


you could be the one to make me feel something

by scoutshonour



Series: home is wherever i’m with you [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Jonathan Byers, Bisexual Steve Harrington, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Neighbors, Pining, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-04-20 21:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: Jonathan’s still awake at four am, because he can’t get any fucking sleep, looking through photographs he’s taken on his laptop, when there’s this shrill noise sounding from the hallway. Is that a scream?“Nance, you’re going to wake up the entire city—”Oh God.“I bet you’d like that, huh?” Steve continues to speak in that deep voice, Nancy continues to moan, and Jonathan wants death.or: Jonathan doesn't expect to have Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington, high school sweethearts, as his neighbours his first year at NYU, nor does he expect to fall for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! this is a modern AU, and there's not rlly a reason???? i wanted to throw a lot of pop culture references but like ......... next chapter i suppose!!!! also, this is an angst free zone. this fic is fluffier than a puppy.

 Jonathan’s mostly quiet throughout the car ride.

His mom and Will chatter endlessly, she reminding him about a billion things about registration and how he needs to call twice a day or else she’ll drive up to his apartment and whack him on the head herself, and Will telling him to take a billion pictures of everything he sees and text him after every episode of  _The Flash._

It’s not that he minds—though it’d be nice if his mom didn’t treat him like a toddler—because he loves his family, honestly. It’s just that he’s trying to grapple with the fact that from now on, it’ll be just him, and he’ll be hours away from his family, the only people who actually give a damn about him.

College is _terrifying,_ and the only part that excites him is NYU—but even that is still unnerving. As if high school wasn’t bad enough with the two hundred or so people, NYU is a completely different ballpark with much more judgemental pieces of shit who are now off their leashes and on their own, away from threats of no allowance or being grounded. And the even quieter fear that maybe, just maybe he won’t find the great friends he’d always thought would find him after high school, outside of Hawkins.

Maybe the reason he doesn’t have any friends to begin with isn’t because everyone in his town were terrible, but was really because of _him._ Maybe he's  destined to be alone.

He shakes the thought off because of how depressing it is and tunes back in to Will animatedly talking about his friends and whatever else comes into his mind. Something about his little brother yapping away with that precious smile is so damn endearing that Jonathan wonders how he wasn’t listening in the first place.

They pull up to the complex sometime around seven in the afternoon when the sun starts to set. Jonathan’s living in an apartment building for a few reasons, one that his scholarship wasn’t enough for a dorm, and two, he didn’t want to have to be on school twenty-four seven, either. He needed something separate, his own space without anyone else peaking in. The fact that he’s able to afford it is a miracle; his dad knows the landlord, a distant cousin, the one good thing he’s ever done, and Jonathan’s had all that money saved up from his part-time job. Three years finally came down to around five grand and the first thing he intends to do is stash that in a bank account.

They set his things into his place, not that there’s a lot of it. He only has four boxes and once Will sets the final one down onto the floor, Jonathan doesn’t know what to say.

His mom flings herself into his arms, burying her face into his shoulder. She doesn’t weep and it’s the only thing keeping him afloat, along with the sweet scent of her perfume. “You’ll be okay, you hear me? You’re an extraordinary photographer and you _will_ be great. If you need me, just say the word, and I’m on my way. Okay?”

“Mom—” he starts, but she shushes him.

“ _Okay?_ ” She repeats firmly, giving him a pointed look.

It’s not like Jonathan would ever inconvenience her, but he’s not going to say no, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

She hugs him again and he lets himself linger, trying to remember every last detail. He feels like a kid again and hides his disappointment when she lets go.

“Text me! _All the time!_ ” Will says, shamelessly wrapping his arms around Jonathan tight enough that he wheezes. Nothing has ever relieved him more than the fact that Will hadn’t gone through the _my family sucks_ phase and that he’s not embarrassed enough to hug Jonathan, either. “Seriously. I mean it.”

“I’m going to annoy you, though. No take-backs.”

“No take-backs,” he agrees solemnly, and no one says anything about how Will's eyes water. 

They say goodbye for another twenty minutes and when the door eventually closes, Jonathan suddenly feels so _alone._ He becomes increasingly aware of the silence and figures he might as well be productive. He plays some of his music from his phone, using his speaker, hoping his neighbours aren’t  the type to complain when anything becomes remotely loud.

He unpacks his clothes first, filling up the closet that had been left along with a bed. Then, he fills the kitchen—five feet of space with a sink, fridge, and countertop—with utensils and plates, before finally hanging up the space with the pictures he developed before leaving. Some of his mom and brother, one particular one from his graduation where he’s smiling harder than he’s probably had in his life, other the ones he’d loved the most; random pictures of Hawkins that make it look like it’s more than an insignificant dot on a map, fireworks set off on the fourth of July—shots that just fill him with warmth. The apartment is still mostly empty, but not as empty as when he first got here, which he considers a win.

He spends the rest of his night watching movies on Netflix, eating a box of Ramen—already living the life of a broke-ass college student.

 

Jonathan decided to move in a week before school started, which he now instantly regrets. He’d initially wanted some time to settle in, get used to the area, scope out for a job. Two days in, he hasn’t left his apartment or showered and has been eating Ramen since the night he’d gone out.

He feels like shit and knows that he will if he spends another minute in his room, so he drags himself to the shower, wears a clean-set of clothes, and steps out the apartment. Jonathan’s certain that another bowl of Ramen will kill him, so he sets out to find a grocery store. His phone told him that there was one only five minutes away. It takes him forty-five minutes to find it.

He’s hauling two bags back into his apartment when he sees someone standing in front of the door across of his, lugging a brown box with them. Or attempting to, at least.

“Do you need help?” His voice sounds unfamiliar to him. He prays that he doesn’t seem like a serial killer trying to murder this person in their apartment.

The person turns around, a neat ponytail of brown hair swinging with them, and Jonathan nearly shits himself. Lo and behold, in all her grace, Nancy Wheeler stands in front of him—older sister of Will’s best friend, the valedictorian and smartest girl in his year, and the same girl he had a crush on back in elementary school _._ She’s here, in New York, clearly moving into the apartment across of his. It’s too unbelievable and coincidental that Jonathan contemplates pinching himself until Nancy responds.

She drops the box down, groaning before looking up at Jonathan. “That’d be _gr_ —” She stops, smile falling off her face and her eyebrows pulling together, and Jonathan doesn’t know if he wants her to recognize him or not. “Do I know you?”

So both.

Great.

Jonathan could lie, save himself and her from the awkwardness of her not recognizing him, but that sounds like a terrible decision that he’d come to regret. He goes for a tentative, “Yeah, actually. I’m Jonathan.”

She’s still giving him a confused look, her head slightly canted to the side as if the harder she looks at him, the more likely it is she’ll remember him. She just keeps staring at him, utterly perplexed, and Jonathan wants to shrink into a ball.

Well, just fucking shoot him, why don’t you?

“Jonathan Byers?” He tries again, his voice cracking as he tries not to wince.

Thankfully, the confused look lets up and her eyes widen with recognition. “Yeah, yeah, I totally remember you now. Your brother is friends with mine, right?” She smiles brightly, and he’s hit with relief.

He nods and if he didn’t have a grocery bag in either hand, he’d fling them deep into his pants’ pockets. “Yeah. You—are you moving in?” He gestures towards the room behind him, knowing that she obviously is, but he hasn’t had human contact in days and she _is_ his neighbour. He’ll take small talk.

“Mhm! Just trying to load all my stuff inside. Wait. Don’t tell me you live here too?”

“I … I do?” Two days and he’s already forgotten how to interact with other people. Though, who’s to say he ever actually knew.

Nancy smiles, and Jonathan’s heart lurches when she reaches forward to nudge him with her shoulder. “Hey, guess we’re neighbours then.”

He freezes at the contact but smiles genuinely, about to quip back until—

“Holy _fuck,_ Nance, what’s in these boxes? _Rocks?_ ” The voice sounds awfully familiar, but Jonathan can’t put his finger on who it is until the person in question clambers towards them and absolute dread fills him.

His first instinct is to run.

Steve Harrington walks towards Nancy with two boxes stacked in his hands, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair is artfully tousled in an annoyingly perfect way and even when he’s sweating, he still looks good, wearing tight jeans and a red shirt that _just_ fits.

Jonathan and Steve were never friendly in high school, on account of Steve being an absolute piece of _shit._ Making fun of him, having the nerve to say shit about his family and their poverty, happily jerking him in the direction of the wall with a hard shove like a fucking psychopath.  He never understood what Nancy saw in him nor how they lasted the year and a half year they did.

“Like they’re not filled with your useless crap. I bet all your stupid games are in there,” she fires back and Steve gasps with a hand over his heart, setting the boxes next to the one Nancy dropped so he can poke her stomach.

“You take that back.”

Jonathan’s just about ready to fade into the shadows and retreat back to his apartment when Nancy says loudly, “Jonathan! Wait! Steve, you remember Jonathan, right? Jonathan Byers?”

Jonathan stops, dead in his tracks, as Steve turns his head to him. He’s paralyzed with the same fear he’s had since the beginning of high school, and he knows it’s not like Steve’s going to push him into another wall and call him a fucking faggot, but Jonathan can’t get over how all of their interactions have been horrible.

Steve squints, and seriously? He’s not going to know who he is? The same guy who’d relentlessly given him crap for existing? As if he had _that_ choice.  “Jonathan … that sounds—oh. Byers!” His face lights up with familiarity, but then dims again and it’s like Jonathan can see each memory slowly flood back in, his smile shifting to a grimace. _Good,_ Jonathan thinks with a sneer. He wants Steve to remember every terrible thing he’s said and done, wants him to burn with embarrassment and remorse.

“Harrington,” Jonathan says coolly, and somehow, Nancy’s indifferent to the clear tension in the air.

“How long have you been here?” Nancy asks conversationally, and Jonathan’s thankful that the silence won’t extend. He happily tears his gaze away from Steve to Nancy, his heartbeat steadying instantly .

“Just a few days.”

“Well, it was nice seeing you. If you’re ever bored or anything … we have a PS4 if that helps?”

Jonathan chuckles. “Killing people in a virtual world isn’t really my thing, but thanks. I’ll, uh, see you guys around?”

“Definitely!” Nancy chirps.

Jonathan’s about to head back, but before he can rationalize it, asks, “Do you guys need help with your boxes or anything?” To be a good person, he tells himself.

Nancy opens her mouth, but Steve cuts in with a, “I think we’re good, man,” and Jonathan can take the hint.

He gives them a thin-lipped smile, darting back to his room and dumping his bags to the floor. Fucking fantastic. His high school crush and high school bully right next door.

_Ugh._

 

Jonathan manages to go a week without seeing them, part of that due to luck, and part due to him trying very hard to avoid them. Classes have started, and he’s just come back from his first ever lecture. He’s only slightly overwhelmed, but he and Will have a Skype call planned, so he’s in a better mood than he would be otherwise.

Nancy and Steve are within earshot when he reaches his floor and he walks as slow as possible, but they’re still at their door, talking about what sounds like a movie as Steve takes a fucking eon to find their keys.

“Jonathan,” Nancy greets when she sees him and before he can hide, reminding him of the sun, shining bright enough that Jonathan breathes in sharply when he sees her. “Are you busy right now? We’re making spaghetti.”

“More like _I’m_ making spaghetti and you’re going to watch and complain about how long I take,” Steve jokes, looking at Nancy fondly.

Nancy rolls her eyes and elbows Steve, but the corners of her mouth tug into a smile anyway. “We’ll have enough for three.”

Part of him is allured, because Nancy’s actively asking him to come in and he can always reschedule with Will, but Steve’s staring at him with an ice-cold look, eyebrows lifted in an unwritten challenge. As much as he’d like an actual homemade meal and some company, he’s so terribly lonely, Steve’s presence is enough to deter him. It becomes  easy to turn her down.

“Thanks, but I have plans.”

“Next time, then.”

“Next time,” he promises, and turns back inside, for once appreciative to be by himself.

 

Nancy Wheeler is persistent, Jonathan learns in the next two weeks. The fates seem to have it out for him because almost every time he leaves and enters his apartment, he sees her; sometimes she’s with Steve, sometimes she isn’t, and Jonathan feels much lighter when he’s not there.

“If you hate me, I get it. Just let me know, or else I’ll actually believe that you have plans every time I ask and will never get the hint,” she says candidly one day in the middle of September, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s short, but the firmness of her voice is enough to envoke fear in him.  

Jonathan’s mouth hangs open and he’s too dumbfounded by her bluntness to respond, balking uselessly for a few seconds. “Uh—it’s just—I’m …” _Say something, asshole._ “I don’t hate you. I just … you don’t have to be so nice. I don’t want a pity invite.”

Nancy sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Steve and I currently have zero friends and even though I’ve known you for ten years, I don’t know you at all. This is _not_ out of pity. I’m going to offer you pasta, and you’re going to say yes. If we have an awful time, then I’ll never ask you to hang out again, and if I do, you can happily say no and I won’t say a thing. So I’ll ask: Jonathan, do you want to eat pasta at my place?”

“Yes?”

Nancy grins, and hoops her arm around his. “Good. Come on in.” She opens the door to her apartment and Jonathan’s surprised at how _full_ it is. Posters and pictures cover most of the walls, ornaments and Funko figures are spread out across the living room, and there's two bean bag chairs, along with a television in the centre.

“Steve should be home in like half an hour,” she says, dropping onto one of the beanbag chairs. She pats the spot next to her and Jonathan reluctantly takes it.

“Will he mind? Me being here?”

“Of course not.”

Jonathan narrows his eyes. “Steve doesn’t seem to like me very much,” he says, fidgeting with his hands, hoping to God that Nancy won’t lash out at him.

“ _What?_ Of course he does!” She insists in a high voice and Jonathan proceeds to give her a flat look again. “Okay, listen, it’s just that he’s kinda nervous about losing me to the people I’m bound to meet here, and, I know this is total bullshit, but he’s pretty sure you have a crush on me. Some crush if you’re turning me down twenty times, but—”

A laugh tumbles past Jonathan’s lips, prompting Nancy to smile. “He’ll come around. Unless you secretly hate him, too?”

Jonathan grimaces. “We haven’t had the greatest of times together.”

“He’s become a lot better, honestly. And I totally get it, because he was _such_ a dick back in high school, but he’s really changed. You two will get along. Just give him a chance. Please?”

“Well, considering that I am stuck with him for at least the next year, I don’t really have much a choice, do I?”

“ _There’s_ the spirit!”

They make small talk, but it’s not as awkward with Nancy who genuinely sounds intrigued when Jonathan tells her his major. They find out they both go to the same school, and it comes as a relief. “What about you? What’re you majoring in?”

“Political Sciences. Ever hear that quote about leaving the world a better place than you found it? I’m intent on following it,” she says meaningfully, looking determined. Jonathan’s always been a cynic and a pessimist; he’s pretty much lost all faith in humanity, every time he’s seen the news only furthering the belief that people mostly suck, but he believes it when Nancy says it. That the world can be saved, that an individual person can actually have that impact. It’s something about the look in her eyes and how passionate she sounds, the kind of fire Jonathan sometimes wishes he had.

“That’s pretty cool. Is, uh, Steve in school?”

“Starting in January. He, uh, took some extra courses this last year to boost his average,” she explains. “For now, he’s just working.”

“What’s he plan on taking?”

As if on cue, the door swings open, Steve carrying a series of bags atop each other that threaten to fall over. “I did some light shopping—“

“Oh my God,” Nancy says, looking mildly concerned. 

“Just some stuff for the apartment, some ingredients for dinner, some candles, a vibrator since I broke the last one—“

Jonathan blushes when Nancy stiffens, blurting out, “Look who’s here!”

“Who—Byers,” he says with a strained smile that Jonathan matches. 

“Harrington.” They’re staring at each other and it’s only semi awkward, but awkward nonetheless. Jonathan’s happy to stare and let that it continue, but Nancy seems like she really wants to get along and like she wants to be Jonathan’s friend, so he clears his throat and says, “What else did you buy?”

Steve momentarily balks before naturally picking his charm back up from the floor and says, “I basically bought Ikea. The apartment needed more things!”

“We don’t have the space for it,” Nancy huffs, but she stands up and kisses his cheek anyway, reaching up to smoothen the top of his hair.

“I’ll make space,” he murmurs, and tilts his head forward to kiss her. Jonathan stills, unsure what to do, so he averts his gaze and stares at a painting hung up until one of them pulls away.

“Get cooking, mister. We’re hungry.”

“Is this how you treat the help?”

“When they’re not doing their job, yes. C’mon. You look so _pretty_ when you cook.”

Steve grins and blows her a kiss. “You know it," he says smoothly, winking. "Uhh, Byers, you like white sauce?”

Jonathan blinks, bewildered. He admittedly expected Steve to ignore him, so colour him pleasantly surprised. “My favourite.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” Nancy says in a low, gruff voice. She perches herself onto the kitchen counter, swinging her feet back and forth.

“The hell was that, Nance?”

“My impression of you guys.”

Jonathan scoffs, turning around so he’s facing the both of them. Steve’s pulling ingredients out of the bag and Nancy’s looking back and forth between them. “I do _not_ sound like that.”

Steve laughs, the sound strangely pleasing to Jonathan’s ears. His smile takes up his entire face and it makes Jonathan smile too, and once he realizes that’s why, he stops immediately.

“Yes you do. You’re all … emo and shit. Like you’re about to kill ten people and write some angsty poetry about it,” Steve snorts, his joke coming out way too easily.

Nancy laughs, throwing her head back. “You’re right!”

“I do _not—_ no!”

“You do!” Steve insists. “It doesn’t help that you’re always wearing black and frowning. Like you never smile. It’s weird, man.”

“Maybe I don’t smile ‘cause you’re around, Harrington,” Jonathan teases, and he freezes initially, out of fear the words are too malicious and they’re not quite there yet, but Steve just grins.

“Then it’s my mission to make you smile tonight,” he declares.

“Look Steve, mission’s already accomplished,” Nancy says with a smirk, and Jonathan nearly curses when he realizes he’s already smiling, ducking his head when he’s aware of how intently they’re both staring.

It’s unusual, how easy it is to talk to them both. He’d seen them around high school and in Hawkins, sure, and they had conversations, but nothing like this. Nothing memorable or favourable, nothing that actually made Jonathan smile. And yeah, he won’t admit it to them, but he doesn’t smile that often; truth be told, he never had much of a reason to except for his mother and Will. It leaves him with this light, giddy feeling he’s not used to, and cheeks that ache from all the smiling.

Twenty or so minutes later, they’re gathered on the floor because Steve and Nancy haven’t gotten around to buying furniture yet. “This is actually pretty nice,” he says, looping an arm around Nancy’s shoulder. “We should eat like this all the time.”

“And have you spill sauce and drinks on the floor all the time? No thanks.”

“But tables are so unnecessary—“

“Your face is unnecessary—“

“Aw, but you love my face, don’t you, Nance?”

“No, I love you. Your face, I’m indifferent to.”

“Liar.”

“No.”

“ _Liar.”_ Steve traces his fingers along her jaw and she leans into him.

“Maybe.”

They’re so disgustingly cute without even trying and Jonathan is so pathetically alone, shoving forkfuls of pasta into his mouth as they kiss. The only thing touching his lips is food, but hell, it’s not like he can be mad when Steve’s pasta tastes the way it does.

“So? Are you in love with my cooking yet?” Steve asks after pulling away from Nancy, her head dropping to his shoulder.

 _Yes_ is his answer, but he’s not about to fuel Steve’s ego, so he carelessly shrugs and says, “Eh, it’s kinda dry.”

Steve gasps. “The only dry thing here is your personality, Byers.”

Nancy groans, setting her plate onto the floor by her feet. “Boys—“

“Aww, did I hurt your feelings, Harrington?”

“I just don’t appreciate lying. It’s not good for your health.”

“Neither is your cooking, I’m sure.”

Nancy scowls and slaps her hand onto the wooden floor. “Both of you, _shut up.”_ When Nancy Wheeler glares at you and growls at you like that, you do what she says. Like a switch, she smiles at their silence. “You guys want to watch a movie?”

They settle on a really bad rom-com, bad as in it has twenty percent on Rotten Tomatoes, but their commentary makes it enjoyable. “Boo, Jennifer, he’s _terrible._ He won’t leave his wife for you—“

“He’s not even attractive,” Nancy sighs, moving a fraction of an inch, her thigh pressed against Jonathan’s. It’s minor, nothing really, but he’s hyper aware of it for the duration of the film.

“I hate love triangles,” Steve groans. “How can one person be so indecisive? Just pick one.”

Nancy nods. “I always think they  should all just date each other. _Except_ if it’s a Vampire Diaries situation.”

“What, like a threesome?” Jonathan pipes up.

“Yeah, but like a relationship. Polyamory _is_ a thing, you know,” she says through a yawn.

Steve stands up, rubbing his eyes. “It’s getting late. Look, dude, it was nice having you over. You should really stop lying about having plans and come over more. Nancy won’t stop bitching about you, either, and it’s _really_ cramping my vibe to hear her talk about you right before sex.”

“Um. Okay?”

“Steve, you don’t have to say everything you think,” Nancy mumbles. “But he’s right. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I did like your dry pasta.”

“Asshole, it wasn’t dry!”

Jonathan laughs, his eyes crinkling as he reluctantly gets up and shuffles to the front door. “Bye Nancy. Harrington.”

And really, it’s as easy as that.

 

Just like that, it becomes a habit. The next week, it’s quesadillas and after a particularly large bite, a huge slob of hot cheese drips down his shirt and he deadpans, “Great.”

“I’ve got it. I’m _prepared_ , Byers,” Steve says and grabs a napkin, dabbing at the stain. He’s very close and Jonathan goes still, acutely aware of Steve’s fingers on his chest. They don’t notice, thank God, and he just clears his throat when Steve leans back down into his spot.

Nancy continues with a story about her class today, talking animatedly about some ass hat in her class. And Jonathan isn’t listening, because he can’t actually believe he has _friends_ , that he has real plans that don’t include staring at his brother on a screen.

It’s so delightfully _weird_ and he doesn’t know how else to phrase it.

The conversation shifts and Steve and Nancy are talking to each other. They’re both so conventionally attractive, but he’s not noting this out of jealousy or annoyance like he would’ve a few weeks ago—it’s pure admiration. From a photographer’s standpoint, of course. He almost doesn’t realize that he’s reaching into his backpack and pulling out his camera until his finger slides over the shutter. They don’t notice at first, until Jonathan stupidly tries one on with a flash, and they immediately perk up, staring at him with a bewildered expression.

“Jonathan, did you just take a picture of us?” She doesn’t sound mad, just amused, straightening her back and sitting on her hands.

“I know I’m very hot and irresistible, Byers, but if you wanted a picture, you could’ve just asked.” Steve winks. Jonathan glares at him, because _damn_ , that ego is really insufferable, and is too caught up with trying to look mad that Steve swipes his camera from him.

“ _Harrington!”_ Jonathan shrieks, face whitening with absolute horror. “If you break that, I’ll kill you—“

Steve’s already on his feet with a manic grin, backing away as he looks through the pictures. _Fuck._ It's not like Jonathan has shots of his dick or anything, but pictures are so personal; it’s how he sees the world, how he makes sense of it, and the idea of Steve seeing through Jonathan’s eyes is mildly horrifying.

“If you break anything in the apartment, _I’ll_ kill you—“ Nancy says casually.

“Got it, babe! And if you want it, you’ve gotta catch me first.”

Jonathan hasn’t voluntarily ran in ages, but if it’s for his camera, he’ll do it. They spend five minutes chasing each other in the apartment and the second Steve shows a sign of weakness, setting the camera down on the kitchen counter, Jonathan follows his impulse and just tackles Steve to the floor.

“ _Jonathan!”_ Nancy hisses, sounding concerned, but Jonathan’s too caught up with the fact that he’s kinda straddling Steve’s chest and Steve’s grinning.

Um.

“I didn’t think this far,” he admits.

“You’re strong.”

“You’re both _idiots._ ”

Jonathan agrees with Nancy. She helps him up and then Steve, Jonathan dusting his pants off. “My, uh, camera’s like my baby.”

“Hey, I get it.”

Nancy meanwhile grins at her phone, distractedly walking back to their comfortable spot on the floor. “What is it, Nancy?”

“I’m _so_ glad I recorded that.”

There’s a split second where Jonathan and Steve make eye contact, a silent moment of communication. Steve leaps forward and Jonathan nearly trips over himself to follow him. They don’t jump on her, but Jonathan grabs her phone, and Steve defensively stands in front of him. “Give me the phone, Byers,” he says, and Jonathan does.

He’s never realized how damn short Nancy is compared to Steve, her furiously jumping up to grab it back, and Steve managing to keep it just out of her reach without much effort.

“Promise you’ll delete it.”

“Over my dead body,” Nancy retorts just as fiercely, and Jonathan’s kinda amazed to see the childish part of her. She’s always been so composed or dry, never huffing and pouting over something as unimportant as a video.

They bicker back and forth until Jonathan _ahem’s_ loudly, his forehead starting to  pound. “How about a compromise? Keep it, but don’t post it anywhere. Sound fair?”

“Fine,” they both grit out at the same time.

“Phone?” She extends her hand out and waits impatiently for him to drop it in her hand, which he does after a few seconds of her intense glare. 

They sit back down in a triangle with Jonathan at the point. Steve grabs a couple of bottles of beers and it’s a lazy night. Jonathan gets slightly buzzed, Steve is just more himself if possible after a few beers, and Nancy’s more carefree and subsequently more adorable. They don’t realize the time until Jonathan glances at the clock and realizes it’s one.

“Shit,” he stammers, stumbling up to his feet, “I should—I should go home.”

He’s just about to leave through the front door when Nancy screeches, “ _Wait!_ ” The tips of his ears turn pink when she marches forward and pulls him into a hug. She smells like cherries and squeezes him tightly, combing one hand through his hair. “I’m really glad we’re friends, Jonathan.”

His face burns when he remembers that Steve is there and is probably pissed. He makes eye contact with him, but he’s just genuinely smiling, tipping his bottle towards them.

It’s a nice moment, and Jonathan’s sad to see it go.

 

Their Wednesday classes end at the same time, so Nancy and Jonathan grab smoothies, buying an extra one for Steve. It becomes routine, just like their Friday dinners, and one day early October, he gets a text from Nancy.

_My professor’s holding us up, I’ll be maybe ten minutes late._

He figures he might as well buy their drinks, getting Nancy’s coconut and Steve’s strawberry drink out of memory, and waits outside her classroom. “Jonathan! You got the drinks!” She looks  excited to see him, brightly beaming as she gives him a brief half-hug before happily taking the drink from his hands.

“‘Course I did,” he murmurs with a small smile, his cheeks slightly flushed. His arm tingles from where her arm brushed against his, though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t give it much thought.

“I thought your boyfriend’s name was Steve.” Jonathan nearly jumps when he realizes there’s a girl standing next to Nancy, a confused smile on her face as she fidgets with the straps of her backpack.

 _No, no, no_ —

“It is?”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought—I must’ve misread the signals.” Nancy shakes it off and introduces them, before saying goodbye.  They don’t mention it on their walk back home, nor do they when Steve gets back from work. Nancy doesn’t seem bothered by it, and it’s not a big deal, anyone would’ve made the mistake, but Jonathan can’t stop thinking about it.

 

It hits him a few days after the incident. Steve’s been insisting they get out of their apartments and do something _fun,_ something other than Steve slaving away at a kitchen for the two of them. Nancy and Jonathan both roll their eyes but agree anyway, and decide on dinner at an Italian place instead. _To give poor baby Harrington some relief,_ Jonathan had simpered, and Steve told him to fuck off with a sharp grin.

Will’s visiting this weekend, so Jonathan tells them he’ll be a little late in their group chat, grabbing some junk food for the two of them to binge on. He hasn’t been to the grocery store in ages, pretty much all of his meals coming from Steve; he pops in for breakfast on the days he and Nancy have classes at the same time, for dinner on Friday’s and whenever Nancy and Steve can’t make it. Nancy will also shove leftovers into his fridge anytime they have it, which they always do, so Jonathan doesn’t really cook. It’s a relief since Jonathan hates cooking and Steve’s food is _heavenly._ Not that he’ll ever give Steve the satisfaction of telling him so, of course.

He’s got this anxious feeling when he walks into the restaurant, a small, nicely-lit place with flowers placed everywhere and red and white shining wherever he looks. He’s late, he looks homeless—he _always_ does—and he mostly doesn’t want to miss out on any time with them.

But then he sees them, and his eyes find Nancy, and well—shit. The tight feeling in his chest eases, replaced with a pulsing warmth, and he’s smiling.

 _Shit._ No, no, he can’t, he cannot—

“Jonathan! Hurry up!”

He blinks and forces all thoughts of his realization to leave, and awkwardly speed-walks towards them. “Hey,” he greets, taking the seat next to Nancy, and immediately and inwardly cursing.

He can get through one night. It’s just one night, he tells himself, over and over again, repeating it like a mantra.

“ _I’ll just be a little late,_ ” Steve mocks, gently kicking Jonathan’s calf from underneath the table. “Thirty minutes. Your brother’s here for two days, dude.”

“You know, I haven’t had junk food since I’ve had your cooking,” he says defensively and adds, “You’ve somehow made me healthy.”

“It’s a miracle,” Nancy chimes in, before thrusting a menu into his hands. “Steve and I know what we want. Choose.”

He decides on a salad in the spirit of healthiness but Steve boos him. “We’re at a restaurant. Knock it off and live a little, Byers.” Jonathan resists the urge to flip him off and opts for spaghetti before they order.

“Are you excited to see Will?”  Nancy asks, and she’s looking at him, but it’s like she can see right through him. Jonathan’s hands start to sweat profusely, the overhead light feeling like it’s burning a hole into his head.

“Yeah. I’m not used to being away from him for so long, and I just … I miss him. A lot,” he admits, and expects a snide remark from Steve, but instead he sits a little straighter and doesn’t say anything mockingly.

“Do you guys have any plans?” Steve sounds genuinely interested.

“... Stay inside and see how long we can go without eating a proper meal?”

Nancy sighs an, “of course,” while Steve says, “if you want a _proper_ meal, I got you.”

Jonathan takes a sip of water. “Uhh, I think we’re okay.”

Steve, ever the drama queen, gasps, and looks like Jonathan shat on his mother. “What, are you _embarrassed_ of us, Byers?”

“More like embarrassed of you, Harrington.”

Nancy laughs into his shoulder and Jonathan smiles, not sure if it’s because of Nancy or Steve and the outraged squeak that leaves his throat. Their plates shortly arrive and Jonathan rapidly devours his meal as Nancy and Steve speak, him intently watching them.

“I think Mike’s seeing someone. When I went home last weekend, he kept texting someone and smiling and all, and—get this—he _giggled._ My brother actually giggled. I cannot believe this. He’s too small.”

Steve coughs. “He’s like, five inches taller than you, but okay—”

“And he wouldn’t say anything to me. Not one, single word.”

“Well, in all fairness, he’s fourteen. I doubt he’d want to talk about his love life with his sister.”

Nancy looks offended and swats Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’m cool, goddammit!”

“You’re horrifying and people are staring,” Jonathan says blankly and Nancy looks around, before slumping in her chair defeatedly.

“My baby brother’s all grown up,” she says wistfully, looking miserable as she shoves her fork into a slab of chicken.

Steve reaches over to slide his hand over hers. “Well, he’s not having sex yet, so you’ve still got some time.”

“That’s … the worst thing you could possibly tell me. But thank you.”

Jonathan’s never really believed in love. Not the fairy tales, not the shit you’d see on movies. He has his dad to blame for that, thanks, and he’s seen his parents’ disastrous relationship unfold in front of them, how their love soured into hate, and the minefield that proceeded. But looking at Nancy and Steve who are so unbelievably in love, who work despite how different they are, who look at each other and see universes and galaxies and everything good and beautiful in each other … it gives Jonathan some hope. Even if the sight of them, hand in hand, love twinkling in their eyes makes something sharply twist in his chest.

He snaps a picture, then another, and Nancy gently says, “show me?”

“Holy shit, dude, this is beautiful,” Steve praises, and Jonathan flushes. “You’ve got to show me more.”

“Pay me and I’ll think about it.”

They order dessert, and Jonathan is absolutely stuffed afterwards, craving a nap. “Excuse me,” Nancy says to a passing waiter with a sweet smile, “could you please take a picture of us?”

“Nancy, wha—”

“Byers, give him your camera.”

 _Okay, then,_ Jonathan thinks, giving his camera to the waiter. Jonathan scoots his chair so he’s in between Steve and Nancy, and they lean in close, close enough that their shoulders are pressed together. Nancy pinches his arm, and he yelps.

“Smile.”

And it’s _impossible_ not to, so he does. They politely thank the water and don’t move from their arrangement, gathered around Jonathan as they look at the picture. Steve sported this big grin, his arm wrapped around both of their shoulders, Nancy wore a soft smile, her body angled towards Jonathan, and Jonathan just timidly smiled. It didn’t resemble a forced, awkward family picture your mom made you take and pose for an ungodly amount of time, and Jonathan has this sudden craving to develop it and hang it up in his room.

“I need to pee, hold up,” Nancy says after they’ve paid.

It’s like Steve just _knows,_ because he’s giving Jonathan this serious look as they wait outside the washroom, eyes boring into Jonathan’s with this sharp intensity. Jonathan’s about to break, profusely apologize, until Steve claps his shoulder. “I owe you an apology.”

“What did you do?” Jonathan narrows his eyes and Steve actually looks _nervous._ He taps his foot anxiously, chest heaving up and down a few times as Jonathan continues to stare blankly.

“I don’t want to act like high school me didn’t exist, ‘cause he did, and boy, I fucking regret him.”

“Stop talking in third person.”

Steve chuckles, ruffling his hair. _As if it can’t get more messy,_ Jonathan thinks.  “Yeah, that was weird. Look. I treated you like shit. I had my own problems and instead of dealing with them, I took them out on you. I’m … I’m _really_ sorry, Jonathan. I’m glad we’re friends and I just don’t want to act like that never happened. Am I forgiven?”

Jonathan’s baffled, taken aback by the fact that Steve just used his first name. It’s all coming at him once and he just feels so _guilty. I fucking like your girlfriend, man._ The words sit on the tip of his tongue, and he knows if he says or does anything, it’s all over. It’s not just about Nancy, either. Steve somehow became a really good friend, and if he loses Steve _and_ Nancy? Jonathan could never forgive himself. They’re the only people he’s ever really cared about, save for his family, and he found them all on his own. He _cannot_ lose them.

So he locks that up and throws the key away, easily saying, “I forgive you, Steve.” Steve pulls him into a tight, breath-stealing hug that enshrouds Jonathan with this feeling of protection and safety. He’s still ridden with shame, still hates himself, but it’s the right call anyway, to sulk and pine in secret. Steve and Nancy are better off without him intruding, and it’s not like Nancy would ever feel the same anyway.

 

That same night, Jonathan can’t sleep. He has a paper and a photography assignment due, so he starts those, and it’s not even about being _scholarly,_ he just craves the distraction from Nancy.

 _Nancy, Nancy, Nancy._ He can’t get her off his mind; her smile, her laugh, the way she’ll call him an idiot and swat him, how she’ll show her affection in small ways like a hand on his thigh or her head on his shoulder. Sure, he liked her before, but that was in a stupid, kid way. When you look at someone whose face you kinda like and claim them as your crush. But he’s not a kid anymore, still stupid, but not a kid, and this isn’t something he can ignore. Nancy is his neighbor. She’s his friend. Steve’s his friend.

 _Fuck,_ Jonathan thinks morosely.

Jonathan’s still awake at four am, because he can’t get any fucking sleep, looking through photographs he’s taken on his laptop, when there’s this shrill noise sounding from the hallway. Is that a scream?

“Nance, you’re going to wake up the entire city—”

Oh God.

“I bet you’d like that, huh?” Steve continues to speak in that deep voice, Nancy continues to moan, and Jonathan wants death.

Are they seriously screwing in the hallway? It’s like they’re pressed against his front door considering how well Jonathan can hear them. “Steve, put your mouth to better _use,_ ” Nancy says firmly, and wow, that voice just spoke straight to his dick.

He doesn’t touch himself, though part of him wants to. It feels too creepy, invasive, and  _wrong,_ but he hears their faint voices. He has no idea why they’re out in the hallway so late, if they have some danger kink too. Nancy’s not particularly loud, but Jonathan can hear her clearly, and his cock continues to twitch, Steve speaks in a low, low voice, and Nancy’s moans reverberate through him.

He’s so, utterly screwed.

 

“I’m not fourteen,” Jonathan snorts, leaning against the new couch Nancy and Steve bought. Though it’s there and pretty comfortable, no one uses it; after weeks of using the floor, it’d be too weird not to use it.

Nancy snorts and elbows Steve, who elbows her right back. “It appears my boyfriend is.”

“C’m _ooon,_ it’ll help us get more acquainted with Johnny boy over here!”

Jonathan’s lower lip curls. “Johnny boy?” He repeats sourly, absolutely despising how the words sound in his voice. “No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You suck,” Jonathan says flatly.

Steve smirks. “You wish.”

“Do you always have to flirt with everyone?” Nancy admonishes, propping her feet onto his lap.  

“No, but if it makes Jonathan look like that, then I’ve gotta.”

“Fuck _off._ ” Jonathan groans, and his flush darkens when Nancy whips her phone out to take a picture of him and Steve compares him to a tomato. “If I say yes to Truth or Dare, will you assholes knock it off?”

Steve shrugs, Nancy says, “We’ll think about it,” and Jonathan begrudgingly accepts it. It’s admittedly more than he accepted from either of them.

They grab a few bottles of alcohol and the first few questions are easy and nothing embarrassing. Jonathan sticks to truth, Nancy darts between the two, and Steve always picks dare.  It’s not until it’s Nancy’s turn and she looks at Jonathan does he gulp. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth?”

“What did you first think when you realized Steve and I were your neighbours?”

Steve perks up, raising an eyebrow. “This I’d like to hear.”

“Uhh … fuck, oh God, how do they not know my name, and oh shit, it’s Harrington,” he says, shooting Steve a sardonic smile. “And then I wondered how quickly I could leave without you two noticing.”

“Fair enough.”

"You know," Jonathan muses, aware of how pathetic he's about to sound, "I'm pretty sure my mom thinks you're both imaginary." 

This makes Steve and Nancy laugh, and Jonathan snorts, satisfied with himself. 

Steve takes another swig of his bottle of cheap beer. "Does your dad believe in us?"

"He ... he, actually, is an asshole. Like, the absolute worst. I haven't seen him since I was ten, and I do not intend on ever seeing him again," Jonathan says honestly. It's maybe a little too candid, because they're both gawking at him, and Jonathan wishes he'd kept his mouth shut or dismissed it without venturing the way he did.

He's about to apologixe when Nancy says, "Well, fuck him. He's obviously an idiot." 

"You're like, the coolest. Cooler than Ice Cube," Steve says. 

Jonathan doesn't know how to thank them, just smiles ruefully, hoping they both know that  _this_ means a lot to him. He clears his throat and eyes Steve.

“What about you, Harrington? Truth or Dare?”

Steve’s grin is sharp. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Take one of Nancy’s shirts and wear it for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, he’s going to stretch it _out,_ no—”

He’s already up on his feet when he calls out, “Too late!” over his shoulders and sprints towards their bedroom.

Nancy foots Jonathan’s calf. “You’re having fun tonight.”

“To most people’s surprise, I’m not a sociopath, and I _do_ smile.”

“Technically, we called you a psychopath, not a sociopath,” she corrects with a smirk. “Now tell me I’m always right.”

Without a beat of hesitation, Jonathan says as easily as he breathes, “You’re always right. Now why am I saying this?”

“Because I knew you and Steve would get along. And look who was right.”

“Pure luck.”

Nancy shoots him a wink and foots him again. “ _Sure it is._ You’re full of shit, Jonathan.”

“And you’re full of yourself, Nancy.”

“That—fuck you, that was pretty good,” she laughs, and the sound is beautiful to his ears. Jonathan wants to hear it, over and over again, wants to bathe in it, bask in the sound.

Steve comes in at that second and Jonathan quickly inches backwards, only now aware of how close they’d leaned forward. It’s like he was caught doing something shameful, nervously scratching his neck and heart dropping to the pits of his chest.

His nervousness is almost immediately replaced because Steve has this pink, crop-top on that shows a lot of his stomach. Jonathan’s quick to grab his camera and snap a picture.

“I won’t even ask you to delete it, because I look so fucking good.”

Nancy’s laughing, and Steve’s strutting around like he’s some Vogue model, and Jonathan just captures the moments, glad he’s lucky enough to be experiencing it with them.

 

Jonathan doesn’t remember what sleep is like when midterms roll around in the middle of October. He and Nancy are balls of anxiety and stress; Nancy lashes out whenever one of them tries to speak to her, and Jonathan doesn’t pay attention at _all,_ too out of it and too distraught with the horrors of university to think about anything else.

Steve keeps his distance, but he’s a sweetheart throughout it all. Nearly after every one of his study sessions, Jonathan comes home to a fresh container of dessert or soup with a note that has some stupid pun that leaves him smiling, anyway, and Nancy texts him memes and tags him in things on Instagram throughout the day.

Jonathan’s spent all of his life alone, and now that he finally has people he can consider his own, he has no idea how he lasted as long as he did by himself.

By his last final, he’s ready to collapse on his couch. He has a series of shows to catch up with queued up on his Netflix account, starting with Black Mirror, and is about to begin the first episode of the new season when there’s a loud knocking against his door.

He groans. They couldn’t have texted? He reluctantly stands up, fully aware of how terrible he looks and not caring, opening the door to see a beaming Nancy who finished her last final yesterday. “Change into something else.”

“Why?”

“We’re kidnapping you,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Jonathan, well, he’s positive he’d follow them anywhere, even to hell if they asked.

“I’ll be out in five,” he says, and takes the briefest shower in all history and finds the cleanest jeans and sweater he has.

Steve’s joined Nancy when he returns, brightening at the sight of him. “Congrats on not dying yet!”

“Keyword being _yet,_ ” Jonathan murmurs and easily dodges Nancy’s swat. “Are we being secretive? No one's gonna say anything about where we’re going?”

Nancy loops her arm around his, dragging him towards the elevator. “You’re a hostage. Shut up.”

They take him to a club. Jonathan abruptly stops when he reads the front sign and laughs. “No way am I going in there.”

“Yes you are,” Nancy says firmly.

“No.”

They go back and forth, bickering, until Steve groans loudly. “That does it,” he exclaims, and easily lifts Jonathan up in his arms.

“What the fuck? Harrington, put me _down_ —“ It's no use, Nancy smirking triumphantly and patting his back as they walk inside. Jonathan would snark about how he’s going to lose his hearing tonight, but he’s oddly comfortably with Steve carrying him effortlessly and is even slightly disappointed when he lowers him.

“What do you expect me to do?”

Nancy tugs in one hand, Steve the other. “Oh gooood, stop being so emo and introverted for one night, and dance.”

“I don’t dance,” he bites out, hoping the lighting will conceal how hard he’s blushing. “And I _can’t._ ”

Steve gives his hand a small squeeze and pulls him harder towards the pulsing dance floor. “I’ll tell you a secret; most people here can’t. So just move and you’ll be fine. I won’t make fun of you too much, Byers.”  

Jonathan’s still reluctant, but Steve’s words have this reassuring lull to them and Nancy’s staring him down, so he lets them drag him up, even though he’s nervous as hell and knows he’ll look stupid no matter what he does.

“I’ll get some drinks!” Nancy cheerful says, briefly peking Steve on the lips, before darting off.

“C’mon, Byers. Give me _something_ to work with. Just—just follow my lead,” Steve laughs, twirling him around, and okay, okay, Jonathan can do this. He attempts to follow Steve, swaying and letting his hands drop to his shoulders. Steve’s hands linger on his waist and he’s sharply grinning. He looks _so_ good underneath the shining lights and so blissfully carefree and happy, Jonathan secretly hoping part of that was due to him, and he so desperately wants to snap a picture.

“There we go!”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Their bodies are close, Steve’s face is only an inch away, and he thinks that maybe, if he just leaned forward—

_Wait._

The colour drains from his face and he stops moving immediately, contemplating how terrible his luck is.

“Whoa, Jonathan, everything okay?” Steve's voice drips with worry, and oh God, he's out of his league.  They both are, he thinks, suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. 

“Just—I’ll be back—“

He pushes past Steve, ignoring his calls, and darts to the washroom. The line isn’t as monstrously as the girls’ washroom, so he storms in, and splashes his face with water repeatedly. Jonathan doesn’t know how long he’s there for, waiting until the ice-cold water is too much to dry his face.

When he returns, the club still pounds with music, and his eyes naturally find them. His heart lodged into his throat and it’s a captivating sight; Nancy and Steve, bluntly put, grinding against each other, Steve’s hands on her hips, their mouths continuously brushing until eventually, Steve has both of his large hands framing her face and envelops her into a kiss.

They’re perfect. Nancy and Steve, they’re _that_ couple, and Jonathan … he doesn’t fit into the equation.

Figures the only two people in the city he tolerates, he’s fallen for.

Nancy notices him sulking and stirring the straw in his drink absentmindedly and drags him up.

“Think you could get rid of us?” Steve scoffs, and he easily twirls Jonathan around.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,” he says, startled at how easily they come out.

Steve’s snarky grin falls off his face and there's not another teasing remark, just a surprised flicker of a smile. Jonathan’s probably imagining the tips of his ears pinking, so he ignores it—right when Nancy takes his hand and firmly placed it on her waist.

 _“_ Aww, you love us.”

“Unfortunately.”

But he can’t control the faint smile on his mouth when Nancy pinches his cheeks and starts erratically moving, followed by Steve’s attempt at stupidity it appears. He’s fully aware of how persistent they can be, so he dances. Tries to, at least.

They leave around twelve after Jonathan’s series of complaints, thank God. His feet burn with each step and they’re still walking, three, long streets away from their building.

“You look like you just took a shit.”

“Thanks, Harrington,” he snaps, “it’s my feet.”

“Your _feet_ took a—“

“I’ll kill you.”

All too casually and with a slight bump of the shoulder, Steve says, “I’ll carry you.”

Jonathan rubs his eyes and laughs. “No.”

Nancy gently shoves him in Steve’s general direction. “You look like you’re on the brink of death. And since we’re getting pizza—“

“Oh my fucking—“

“You’re going to be more … like that. So you can stop whining and let him carry you or bitch for the next twenty minutes.”

Nancy reminds him of his mother in the sense that she’s horrifying so Jonathan meekly raises his arms and says nothing as Steve effortlessly hoists him up.

They’re back at Steve and Nancy’s apartment closer to one with a pizza, half pepperoni and half vegetarian. Alcohol is out of the question, so they have water instead and sit on the floor, like usual. Jonathan’s stomach growls with hunger and he’s already on his third slice when Steve suddenly proclaims, “You’ve never seen our room!”

“...And?”

“C’mon!”

Nancy just smiles loftily when Steve’s fingers fumble for Jonathan’s and forcibly pull him up, Jonathan nearly dropping the crust of his pizza. He bites back a snarky comment because of how much Steve wants to show him his bedroom.

It’s unsurprisingly tidy and filled with things. There’s a desk with some of Nancy’s textbooks sitting on top, along with a framed photo of her and Steve at their high school graduation. She’s laughing and Steve has his arms around hers and it’s beautiful. He has one like this too, except with Will beaming brightly. Other pictures take up the wall and posters of shows and movies, and —

“Steve?”

“Jonathan?”

“Why do you have the bisexual flag on your wall?” Jonathan’s chest thumps and he cranes his head to look at Steve, wishing desperately for it to be true. The possibility has never struck him as a reality, but maybe, just maybe—

Steve chuckles and leans against the doorframe. “I’m bi, Byers.”

Jonathan stares, mouth slightly agape. “Seriously?”

“I know, shocking considering I’m committed in a serious relationship—“

“More like considering how eager you were to call me a fag in high school.”

Steve sort of ducks his head and a blush creeps on his cheeks. “Yeah, turns out that some homophobic people aren’t straight.” He looks apologetic and guilt-ridden, and Jonathan will not let him get out an apology. He's been forgiven for his sins, and he doesn't need to apologize for shit Jonathan's long since forgotten about. 

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you Harrington?”

Nancy suddenly calls out, “Jonathan, stop flirting with my boyfriend and come back! Both of you, I’m lonely, goddammit!”

Jonathan shakes his head and starts to retreat back, but Steve grabs his hand and keeps him rooted to the floor. “Nancy, you come _here.”_

Jonathan is baffled when Nancy comes in after ten seconds of silence, and he gives her this look of confusion, to which she shrugs and lays on their bed. “What? I missed my boys.”

And fuck, what can he say to that? His cheeks feel warm and he sits on the spinning chair by her table, thrumming his fingers against the desk just to occupy his hands. They talk about nothing for an hour or two. Nancy has a craving for tea at three, and offers Jonathan a cup.

“Byers,” Steve whines once she’s gone.

“Harrington,” he replies curtly. Jonathan’s not sure why he likes saying Steve’s surname so much—it rolls off his lips so easily, and it feels _right._ Steve, he doesn’t know, it feels more intimate, and he’s gone too long without using it.

“Come here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ _Why?”_

He pouts. “I’m lonely.”

It’s the most precious thing he’s ever heard, so he can’t decline. Jonathan marches over and awkwardly positions himself next to Steve, who drapes across him like a cat. “I might fall asleep on you,” he warns, yawning right after.

“I’ll wake you up,” he threatens.

“No you won’t,” Steve murmurs into Jonathan’s chest, and he’s not wrong.

Jonathan has heart palpitations when Nancy walks in, making his heart pound even harder, making him a little lightheaded with how gorgeous she is. Her hair, recently cut to her shoulders, looks soft and smells like vanilla and she’s wearing shorts with a large shirt that probably belongs to Steve.

She curls up next to him, giving Jonathan a cup and using that hand to caress the back of Steve’s head. “Hi,” she says softly, eyelids drooping as she rests her head on his shoulder.

It reminds him of the song _Put Your Head On My Shoulder,_ the soft, sweet melody that plays in his head. It gives him the same feeling, having both of them so close and so affectionate; part of him thinks that maybe, maybe, but it’s too good to be true. He enjoys it nonetheless, savours the warmth they both radiate. He’s never been touched like this and now that he’s had it, he craves it _._

“Hi. How are you doing?”

“Regretting my existence ‘cause I have a paper due at eight pm tomorrow that I haven’t started. Other than that? Just fine.”

Jonathan laughs, his body moving along with him. “‘M glad. I, and don’t you dare tell Steve this,” he says, gesturing to Steve who’s already asleep and probably drooling all over his lap, “but I had fun tonight. Fuck, I _always_ have fun with you guys. I thought … I was so fucking scared of how lonely New York would be, but with you guys? I’m never alone. And I’ve _been_ alone, nearly all my life, and it’s terrible. It’s less terrible with you and Steve.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling her all of this. It’s too much information and he almost immediately regrets it.

“Jonathan …” Nancy suddenly sobers up, and he swears he hears a sniffle.

“Nancy, are you crying!?”

“Shut _up._ ” She buries her face into his shoulder, and he’s so confused. He’s not sure what to do or if those tears are happy or not. After a long pause, she pulls back, looking up at him with those big, blue, breathtakingly-beautiful eyes. God, Jonathan could get lost in them.  

She looks at him, and he wonders if she’s going to say it. There’s something else in her eyes, something bright and colourful swimming in her irises, her lips parted with words that won’t come out. She’s nervous, this much he can tell.

He’s on the edge, waiting, just waiting, wondering if this is it, the moment that’ll change his life forever.

“You know we love you right? You’re … you’re our best friend.”

He’s only slightly disappointed, but the feeling’s shadowed by this _raw,_ explodingly light feeling that pries his heart open and shuts it back close, fixing every damn wound left behind before. It reminds him of this poem about love, a line that clearly sticks out to him, now more than ever. _Like I’ve everything I’ve ever lost came back to me._ It’s so foreign and new and oddly delightful that Jonathan wants to cry, but Nancy’s looking at him so intensely and he doesn’t want to wake Steve up, so he just rapidly nods.

“I know. You guys, you guys have to know—”

“We do.”

“You know, I’m really glad you’re a stubborn little shit.”

Nancy laughs really loudly, the sound one of his favourite’s along with Steve’s laughter, and he pokes her stomach  repeatedly. “Shh, you’re going to wake Steve up.”

“You wanna sleep over?”

He might as well. It’s not like it’s a big deal, he lives right across from them, and he doesn’t want to wake Steve up, either. “Sure,” he yawns, and slides down the bed as much as he can, Steve stirring, but still fast asleep.

“Goodnight Nancy.”

“Night, Jonathan.”

 

The first time he wakes up, he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

He has a large arm tightly wound around Steve’s torso, body pressed against his very closely while Nancy holds him. He’s sandwiched between the both of them, the bed a mess of limbs and bones, and he’s got Nancy’s knee jutting into his back, Steve’s insanely-tight grip on his arm, and he’s never been more comfortable. Jonathan does not want this to end, so he doesn’t leave. He drifts back to sleep, thanking every God he can think of for landing him into the arms of the two people he wants more than anything.

The second time he wakes up, Nancy’s gone, and Steve’s let go of his arm. He  carefully disentangles himself from Steve, watching him with awe as he snores in his sleep. Steve looks peaceful and calm, the sight a relief to Jonathan. It makes him unbelievably giddy and he’s smiling on his way out.

“You’re finally up,” Nancy says in lieu of a greeting, sipping a cup of coffee. She’s sitting at their dining table, the one that’s been sitting there for two weeks, the same one they _never_ use. “We got very … cozy last night.”

Jonathan snorts. “I might’ve caught an STD from the way you were holding me.”

“As if you weren’t protecting Steve in your sleep,” she teases back, and using her foot, pushes back a seat for Jonathan to sit on. “That wasn’t weird for you, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he answers quickly, but she doesn’t question it. Just looks immensely relieved, hiding her face with a long, drawn-out drink from her mug.

He makes himself a cup of coffee, and with a pinched expression, Nancy says gently, “You really aren’t going to brush your teeth?”

“Now, Steve wouldn’t have said that. I want you to know that,” he says as he stands up.

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, darting to his apartment. He knows, he knows that last night was an accident that meant nothing, but still. It makes him ache a little for what he _could_ have, but he tries to be the one thing he’s never been in his life before: positive. At least he gets a sneak peek. At least he has them in some capacity, even if it’s not the way he wants. That’s something and it’s enough to not dampen his morning.

“Happy? My teeth are clean and minty.”

“Ecstatic.”

Jonathan’s just sat onto the chair when Steve bursts into the kitchen, too bright and too energetic for nine in the morning. “Good _morning,_ kiddos!” He presses his lips onto the top of Nancy’s head in greeting, and then—

Jonathan’s face goes completely white (whiter than it already is) and he bites down on his lower lip _hard_ when it hits him that Steve Harrington is kissing his forehead. Nancy stares at them, dumbstruck, and Jonathan can see the realization dawn on him when he practically skips to the kitchen, a carefree look on his face, before all the colour drains and he stops.

“Shit. Shit. Jonathan, dude, I just—a habit?”

“It’s fine, Steve,” he says, and it’s one hundred percent true. “I know you think I’m gorgeous, but try to be cool. I mean, your girlfriend’s right there.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as the tension in his body leaves. He brews himself a cup of coffee while Nancy smirks, leaning back in her chair.

“What?”

“Steve’s ego is rubbing off on you.”

“Wha—oh fuck. You’re turning me into you!” He accuses, jabbing a finger towards Steve who looks way too satisfied.

“Guess that means I’m turning into you, too. Looks like I need to start drinking black coffee and wear black all the time.”

Jonathan flings a pack of sugar at him and they start throwing around light objects—napkins, a washcloth—until Nancy nails Jonathan right on the nose with a throw pillow. He picks it up, examines it with a casual demeanor, before screaming and running after Nancy. Steve goes, “oh, shit!” in the background and approaches them as Jonathan chases her around the apartment.

And this might just be enough. Jonathan thinks he can live like this, hopelessly into his two best friends, falling harder and harder each day, his crush unrequited.

Obviously that’s not at all what’s going to happen, but give him a second—he’s too smitten to get his head out of his ass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i squealed multiple times throughout this chapter. it gets really gooey, guys. i also apologize in advance for typos and grammatical errors, i was super excited to write this, seeing as i prioritized this over the two assignments i have due tomorrow lmao.

Mike and Will visit in the middle of November.

None of them go home for Thanksgiving; Jonathan catches a terrible cold before the long weekend. Since he spends all of his time with Nancy and Steve, they’re all infected. The trio spends their Thanksgiving with a movie marathon where they create a four-feet pile of tissues by the end of the night.

“I can’t believe mom let you two bus here by yourselves,” Jonathan says, ruffling his brother’s hair when he barrels right into him. He takes one of their suitcases, and gives Mike an all-too uncomfortable handshake when he skips down the bus' steps.

“We begged,” Mike responds with a proud smile, before Nancy crushes him into a hug. “It wasn’t easy, but we’re stubborn.”

“So is your sister—” Jonathan stops, biting back a smile at Nancy’s glare. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

Steve carries the other suitcase and they walk down the sidewalk, the five of them huddled together in the cold, harsh wind. They eventually settle on a McDonald’s since it’s the closest thing they can find and no one’s decisive enough either.

“Alright. What do you assholes want?”

It takes five minutes of indecisiveness for everyone to choose, Jonathan texting Steve their order. Nancy starts to casually interrogate Mike about his alleged girlfriend and Jonathan does _not_ want to see or feel the second-hand embarrassment as Mike shoots her down with each attempt. He slides out of the booth and approaches Steve, clapping him on the shoulder.

Steve jumps a little at the contact, letting out a startled laugh. “Dude. I’m too young to have a heart attack.”

Jonathan dismisses him with a roll of his eyes, joining him in the line. “Figured I’d give you company.”

Steve blurts out, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Uhh, you?”

Steve coughs loudly, looking flustered. “What?”

“I’m looking at you right now,” Jonathan says, eyebrows knitting together.

Steve rubs his temple, holding back a laugh. “You’re an idiot, Byers. I mean _dating_.”

“Nope.”

“I can hook you up.”

Jonathan laughs, pushing him forward as the line progresses. “I’m content with being single, you know.”

“Okay, but—“

“No.”

“Let me just—“

“Steve,” he grits out, clicking his tongue to the roof of his tongue. 

“ _Jonathan.”_

He doesn’t understand what Steve’s deal is. The only people he would want to see are dating each other, so no amount of begging and bugging will get him to budge. It’s not like he can explain that, either, but he shouldn’t need a reason.  “It’s your turn to pay,” he scowls, and returns back to Nancy and the boys before Steve can call him back.

“Give me a letter,” Nancy insists, still at it with her attempts at prying into Mike’s alleged love life. 

Mike shrugs. “I’ll give you two: F and U.”

Nancy snarls, hands leaning over the table towards Mike. “You little—“

Jonathan smirks, and whispers to Will in a lower voice, shimmying back into his seat. “She’s still trying?”

“And failing,” Will says.

Nancy reaches over to whack him. “I am your sister, asshole. I deserve to know.”

“You deserve shit!”

“I’m gone not even three minutes and you’re swearing. Fucking knock it off,” Steve chastises, shaking his head at Mike. 

Steve arrives with a tray in his hands  before Nancy can throw anything at Mike, and Jonathan’s equal parts relieved and dreadful. Steve squeezes in next to him and stares, even when everyone reaches for what they wanted. He just stares, brown eyes serious and Jonathan’s mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“What?” Jonathan says when he remembers how to use his throat. He looks at Nancy through the corner of his eyes, who’s started talking loudly to Mike and Will.

“You’re mad.”

“Am not.”

“You’re a shit liar, too.”

Jonathan fights the temptation to kick Steve. “I don’t want to date anyone. Stop bothering me about it,” he manages, but he can’t look Steve in the eye. He doesn’t know why, but he feels way too vulnerable and he’s almost afraid that one look and Steve will know that he and the person across from him are why.

“Look, man, I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan waves off, reaching over to grab a fry.

Steve grabs his wrist and Jonathan’s arm goes limp. “It’s not. I’m sorry, okay? Honest.”

“Just shut up and eat.” But he’s smiling and kicks Steve’s calf, which Steve of course has to kick him back for, and they go back and forth before Steve accidentally pushes Jonathan into Will.

Steve really can go on, Jonathan muses, as he profusely apologizes to Will who gives him a blank, confused stare. “Steve, Jonathan’s not that strong. And I’m not two. It’s all good,” his little brother says candidly.

Jonathan huffs. “I’m _strong._ ”

“Not really,” Steve and Nancy snort, and Jonathan’s not sure who to throw a napkin at first.

They eventually retreat back to the apartment, specifically Nancy and Steve's, because really, when are they ever at Jonathan’s place? It’s only when everyone sits down and gets comfortable does Jonathan’s phone chime with a reminder and his eyes widen. “ _Shit._ ”

“What?” someone says, and he’s already sprinting over to the door, burning with panic.

“I have a term paper to hand in! I’ll be back soon, okay? Just hang here. And Harrington, please don’t let my brother die in a ditch or something.”

With a resigned sigh, Will repeats, “Again, I’m not two.”

Right when Jonathan’s sweaty hands fumble for the door, Steve says, “You said Harrington. What about Nancy?”

“Baby, you _know_ why,” Nancy says, and Jonathan flashes Steve a grin before he leaves. He tries to go as quickly as possible, but the campus is half an hour away. He passes the place where he and Nancy buy their smoothies and contemplates buying a few or not, before eventually getting five, hoping Mike likes mango. He still doesn’t have a job, but he’s carefully rationed his money out. He should be fine by Christmas, but he’s starting to get worried. He’s dazedly thinking about the library, how he vaguely recalls a _help wanted_ poster somewhere, when he walks back into Nancy and Steve’s apartment, he stops at what he sees.

It’s not like it’s a groundbreaking sight. Steve isn’t an asshole, not anymore, and he seems like he likes kids. But he still can’t quite explain the way he stops and gawks at the sight of Will and Steve passing a ball back and forth, Steve and Mike both intently listening to Will talk about something. He looks so interested, too, his eyes lighting up the same way Jonathan does whenever Will talks to him.

He’s standing in the doorway, staring dumbfoundedly with five smoothies in a bag, when Nancy creeps up behind up. “You’re _staring,_ Jonathan.” 

“Am not. I’m just … looking. For an appropriate amount of time,” he stammers, praying Nancy won’t push.

She looks wistfully into the same direction, her eyes zeroing in on Mike. “He’s like that with Mike too. It’s nice right?”

She says it like … Jonathan doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to think about it either. He clears his throat and lifts the bag in his hand. “I got smoothies.”

“This is why we keep you around,” she says lightheartedly, and takes the bag from him, taking it to the kitchen counter. He watches her go, wondering if she can feel his eyes on her, and hopes she can’t.  He always stares with them and now that he thinks about it, it’s embarrassing. But hey, they’re his friends, so it’s a little more justifiable and he can get away with it.

When Steve eyes the smoothies and shrieks, excitedly clambering over, Jonathan's eyes naturally follow him. Steve then looks at him, and shit, he’s been _caught._ “You are the best,” he says seriously, eagerly searching for his strawberry smoothie, and if Steve Harrington says it, then Jonathan thinks he can believe it.

  
  


Will and Mike sleep over at Jonathan’s place, because Steve is uncomfortably blunt and Jonathan doesn’t want to any more details than the ones he’s given.

“Look man,” he whispers to Jonathan, hitting his foot with the back of his hand. He’s sitting by Jonathan’s feet while they watch a movie, _Civil War_ because gasp, Nancy’s never seen it, how is that _possible,_ everyone had yelled, and looking up at him, chin resting on his knee. “Can Mike and Will stay with you tonight?”

“Sure thing. Not enough room?”

“Nah, it’s just—we bought a new toy and we really want to try it out.” Steve fucking _winks_ , and Jonathan’s surprised at his own willpower in that moment. His body doesn’t betray him, but he can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night, especially not during  the numerous times Steve leans against his leg or Nancy whispers to him a question since Steve’s too invested to answer her.

He clears up a space on the floor for them both in his living room when they’re all ready to sleep. Jonathan stares, puzzled when Will pulls up _one_ sleeping bag and Mike begins to settle. “You brought one? Where’s the other one?”

Mike and Will exchange a series of silent looks like they’re having a whole conversation without saying a single word, before Will shrugs. “Must’ve forgotten.”  He gives him this _look,_ telling him to stop being annoying, and um. Okay.

Jonathan definitely has questions, but he can wait until Mike’s gone. “Don’t be up too long. If you need anything—”

“Thanks Jonathan!” Mike says anxiously, and he swears, if these two have sex on his living room floor, Steve and Nancy can take them. And if they do have sex, then that means Jonathan’s the only one not getting any. His now fifteen year old brother … God, no, he can’t say the words. That’s his _baby brother_.

Thankfully, they don’t. All that he hears are sounds of laughter and hushed giggling, before there’s nothing at all. He falls asleep easily, but then wakes up with the need to piss. He fumbles for the lightswitch, suddenly hating his body despite his earlier gratitude, and between the time he opens the door of his bedroom and closes it, he sees something shifting in the shadows.

Obviously, he doesn’t think it’s something as harmless as two teenagers making out in the middle of the night, so he screams bloody-murder and turns the kitchen light on.

“ _Jonathan!_ ”

Shit.

“I’m just—leaving. Yeah, I’m leaving. Sorry!” He halfheartedly calls out, before hiding in the washroom.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. They don’t talk about it when they leave.

But Jonathan makes sure his arms linger around Will, and hopes the look in his eyes signify everything he wants to say. He smiles at Will and hopes to God he gets it, and the way he just squeezes him even tighter is what Jonathan thinks is his way of saying he does.

  
  


The end of November is a time of gradual change.

For starters, Jonathan has a part-time job at a convenience store, thanks to Steve, whose dad is friends with the owner. It’s easy work and the hours aren’t all that bad, plus his manager is fine with the fact that he swipes two chocolate bars with each shift, a Coffee Crisp for Nancy and a Kit-Kat for Steve. He’s glad to have the money, even if he doesn’t get to see Nancy or Steve as often as before.

The second thing is something that Jonathan’s not sure if he’s making up or not, but it’s something that he’s sure wasn’t there before. The thing is, Steve and Nancy have never been overly affectionate. There’s been PDA, sure, mostly initiated by Steve, but they’ve toned it down for Jonathan’s sake.

Now, he’s not sure what the hell is happening.

Movie nights have become challenges designed to see how long he can withstand seeing the two make out before rushing to the washroom to calm down and envision his grandmother over and over again.

One night, he’d already been to the washroom three times and another trip would make it look like he had a UTI. Jonathan instead carefully extracted a throw pillow and as subtlety as possible, placed it over his crotch.  

Nancy’s started wearing more shorts in the apartment, despite the weather. Jonathan tries not to stare, but sometimes she’ll bend down to pick something up, and he can’t help but admire her toned legs.

Steve’s wearing tighter and tighter shirts, and he’s seen him without a shirt many times. Too many times to be a coincidence, and especially for him to recognize the birthmark right above his hip.

It’s a Friday morning and Jonathan’s half-alive, inviting himself into their apartment like he’s done since September. Their apartment’s always unlocked when they’re expecting him, and he pauses when he sees Steve.

“Hey man.” Shirtless. Again. It’s not surprising anymore.

Jonathan really should be used to the sight, but he’s not, and he feels like a dumbass, so he just sits on the table and crosses one leg over the other. “It’s freezing out. You’ll catch a cold without a shirt on.”

“I’m too _hot_ to catch a cold,” he says. He hovers by the stove, making something Jonathan can’t see, but it smells delicious. “Nancy had to leave early, by the way. She has a meeting with her professor. She had questions about why she got an eighty-nine and not a ninety.”

“I’m praying for that professor.”  He’s bummed since he’s accustomed to walking to  class with Nancy, but one day without her won’t kill him.

Steve laughs and Jonathan notices how he does it with his entire body, how it reverberates through him and how he takes a second to stop what he’s doing to let that ripple of happiness consume him.

Steve’s back faces Jonathan and he shamelessly ogles him, eyes trailing down his toned back to that _ass._

It should break records how quickly Jonathan’s head snaps up when Steve turns around with a plate of scrambled eggs and a mug of coffee, sliding it towards him. “You have work tonight?”

“Thank God, no. Besides, my apartment is a mess and I need to clean it. Why?”

“Nance and I were thinking about seeing a movie. It’s half off today.” He doesn’t outright invite Jonathan, eyebrows lifting expectantly.

Jonathan pretends to consider it, but he’s made his mind up when he sees the excited smile dancing on Steve’s lips. “Only if you two help clean up.”

“The things I do for you,” he tuts, before taking an enormous bite of his toast.

Jonathan rolls his eyes, eyes flicking to the clock, before sharply standing up. “Look, Harrington, I need to leave.”

“Want me to walk you? I don’t start work for another hour.”

It’s an innocent gesture, Jonathan tells himself, so innocent, casual, and meaningless, but he can’t stop _thinking_ about it. Steve wants to walk him to class. Isn’t that a boyfriend thing? Not like Jonathan would know, but it feels like it. And he doesn’t have to either. He can spend the next hour peacefully enjoy the freedom of doing nothing, but instead, he wants to spend half an hour taking him to class, and probably leave for work since there’s no point in returning.

“Are you sure?” Jonathan asks, befuddled because why on earth would Steve want to waste his time? There’s no platonic reason for that. Also, there’s no platonic reason for Steve to be shirtless. God, if only he had friends he wasn’t crushing on to talk to about this.

“And what, be by myself when I could be with you? Hell yeah, I’m sure. Let me just get a shirt.”

“Oh, but I’m sure New York would love to see you and your abs.”

Jonathan.

What.

Oh God, he thinks, mortified, but Steve grins and takes their plates to the sink. “Byers, c’mon. I know you want a piece of this ass, but I have a _girlfriend,_ ” he says, but he winks anyway and heads to his bedroom.

 _I know,_ Jonathan thinks, _I want her too._

  
  


“I’m going to drop out,” Jonathan promptly declares, dropping his head onto the library table, banging it repeatedly because he’s extra like that. The librarian has long since given up shushing students since exams have started to creep up, instead giving them disapproving glares for a few seconds before continuing her work. “I’m going to be homeless, never touch a camera again, and I’ll accept money from strangers who give me a dollar when they have ten in spare change.”

Nancy pats his back soothingly and he continues to groan. “You’re not going to drop out, because I’ll kill you before you get the chance. Stop complaining. We have ten minutes until our next planned break.”

The library’s full of students just like them, some ready to quit and turn to the pole, others determined not to succumb to the terrors and negativity that’s bound to come with exams. There are also students fast asleep, with blankets and pillows prepared. Nancy and Jonathan, on the other hand, have an abundance of containers of things Steve’s been making them. It’s not the healthiest, but it’s homemade, Jonathan justifies, before thinking about how he hasn’t jogged in weeks. Fuck it, that can happen _after_ exams.

“Nancy, you continue, I’ll just … sulk.”

“No you’re not. Revise or I’ll revise _with_ you.”

Studying alongside Nancy is one thing. Studying with her is an experience that Jonathan doesn’t want to live through again, something Steve thoroughly warned him about before Jonathan came to regret agreeing.

He agrees with heavy reluctance, sitting upright and forcing himself to do something. Instead, he stares at his notes, not reading, not doing anything, so he grabs his pen and starts doodling. Hey, Nancy won’t know, and it’s infinitely times better than staring at sheets of papers and wanting to sob.

Their timer goes off and Jonathan’s never been more relieved in his life. “Home?”

“Home,” she says with a small smile that makes Jonathan smile in turn. It gives him a warm feeling, and he’s pretty sure that home isn’t his apartment, the one he’s barely in, or theirs, but the both of them. His entire life outside of school and work is just them, and it’s not sad or pathetic, either. Sure, in an ideal world, he wouldn’t be as whipped for them as he is or, better yet, they’d all be together, a possibility he’s pretty sure leans towards the _impossible_ side. But he’ll take what he can get, and if it’s them in his life, then sign him the fuck up.

“Honey, you’re _home._ ” Steve ambushes Nancy with a series of kisses on the top of her head and she takes it, letting him wrap his arms around her and pull her up, spinning her around a few times. She laughs like she’s startled, surprised at how eager he is, and kisses him right on the mouth.

“You’re excited,” Jonathan notes wryly, closing the door behind him.

“‘Course I am. My two favourite people are here.”

Sometimes Jonathan wishes they’d stop saying things like that, stop making his heart swell in his chest. Because they’ll look at him like that, like they have stars in their eyes, like Jonathan is their entire fucking world, and he’ll wonder, hope, and—it’s like torture, imagining what it would be like.

“God, are you always this cheesy, Harrington?” He drops his backpack onto the floor and suddenly feels exhausted, so, for the first time in history, drapes himself onto their couch.

“You _love_ it, Byers.”

“Normally, I love your banter, but I’m tired and I just want to lie down in peace. Okay?”  

They silently agree and put on a film, the first thing that they can find on Netflix. They can spend way too long arguing over what to watch, anyway, and everyone’s too tired to function; Steve from his gruesome shift at the bank, and Jonathan and Nancy from their hours of studying. Nancy brings blankets and pillows and Jonathan’s ninety percent sure he’s going to fall asleep, but it wouldn’t be the first time, and Nancy hasn’t carried through with threats of vandalising his face, so.

It’s an action movie, basic plot, hero gets the girl, is the “chosen one”, yada yada yada, but at least the visuals are something Jonathan can admire.

They’re about a third way through the movie when Nancy and Steve start making out. It’s nothing graphic, PG 13 at best, and Jonathan can focus on the alien invasion without thinking about it.

But when Nancy straddles Steve’s lap, his mind turns to mush. They’re so close to each other, and he can start to hear whimpers, all sounding from Nancy, until she gets a good tug at Steve’s hair and he groans.

Jonathan quickly excuses himself to the washroom, repeatedly dousing himself with water. What the fuck? How is he supposed to concentrate on anything _other_ than where Steve’s hands are? Or how Nancy keeps nipping at Steve’s throat and probably has a thing for leaving hickies on him? And seriously, why do they think it’s cool to do _that_ in front of him?

He tells himself he can take it. That they’re not having sex, at least. He waits for his erection to stop ruining his life, and when he returns, he can see a few buttons of Nancy’s shirt popped off and Nancy clawing at Steve’s shirt.

Yeah, no thanks.  
“I’m just—you guys clearly need some alone time,” he announces, clearing his throat.

They pull apart like two teenagers found in the school’s supply closet, lipstick all over Steve’s mouth, Nancy’s hair thoroughly disheveled, staring at him like deers caught in a headlight. It makes for a good sight, but Jonathan absolutely cannot see this.

“Jonathan, wait—”

“It’s cool, I just—” He needs to stop speaking. He needs to walk out and do it quietly. He needs to knock it off. But he can’t, because this is seriously starting to piss him off, and before he opens the door, he says, “You know, you guys can tell me to fuck off. I know I’m basically here all the time, but I won’t get offended if you want to screw. I just—I don’t need to see this, okay? I’ll—” _stop talking, stop talking, stop talking_ —

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” His words don’t sound as angry, voice much softer and less laced with pent up anger, building and building for weeks, and he surprises himself when he doesn’t slam the door on his way out.

They don’t call after him. They don’t knock on his door.

Jonathan’s almost relieved.

He’s not _mad._ He just needs to cool off (with a cold shower) and be by himself for a little bit. He calls Will, and they talk about bullshit for twenty minutes, before Jonathan cuts in. “So, Mike?”

The silence is a lifetime before Will says, “You didn’t te—”

“I didn’t say a thing,” he assures him. “How long?”

“Since September.”

“You waited until I left to get a boyfriend? I see how it is,” he teases, smiling. He’s sprawled across his bed, grinning up at the ceiling like Will’s there, and if he shuts his eyes, it’s like he is. “Does Mom know?”

“She caught us kissing. It was embarrassing.”

Jonathan laughs. “You two are not at all stealthy. But I’m happy for you. And mom, she’s co—”

“ _Obviously._ She’s mom. She gave me a really weird talk about sex and that she looked up protection for two boys, and—I wanted to run away,” he admits, but he’s laughing too, and Jonathan can picture how informed she must have been, probably bringing pamphlets and a banana for Will to put a condom on, and how red his face must have been.

“Next time lock your door.” He’s not surprised by his mother’s reaction, both by her casualty and her need to go into things that are next-level mortifying without any shame. She’s always been open-minded, thank god, but there’s always been that _what if._ You never know. And Jonathan hasn’t really given it much thought, but if he likes the both of them, he’s probably bisexual. It makes sense; he thinks of Bobbie from fourth grade, how Bobbie kissed him before his eyes widened with realization and proceeded to push him down the slide, the most fucked-up way to know if someone likes you or not.

Looking back, Jonathan pushed that memory aside, not really thinking about what it might have meant, never wondering if he liked it or not. But now he knows what he feels. He knows that whenever he watches Nancy screaming at the television— _Jesus, stop torturing Meredith Grey, goddammit_ —or when Steve starts singing horribly off-key to whatever song plays from his phone. The flutter of his heart is undeniable. It’s _real._

“What about you, huh?”

“What about me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Jonathan nearly laughs again. “Nope.”

“Do you _like_ anyone?” Will whispers, like there are people around, like this is gossip spread in the back of the classroom while the teacher’s talking.

“No, Will—”

“Really? ‘Cause I thought, maybe Steve …”

Jonathan pulls the phone away to groan into his pillow. “Am I that transparent?” There’s no use to lying to Will; he’s not going to blab, and Jonathan can’t keep his feelings repressed for any longer. Everything he feels is so overwhelming and if he doesn’t tell anyone, he’ll explode. It’s almost a relief when he sighs, finally confessing after weeks of pining, “yeah, I do.”

“I _knew_ it! I also thought Nancy, too, but that’s just—”

“Yeah, no, I like her too.”

“What?”

It’s almost comical, how loudly Will shrieks into his phone.

Jonathan winces. “I like them both.”

“Jonathan, Jonathan …”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m so sorry for you. You’re in my prayers.”

Even when he’s thinking over how hopeless his love life is, he can’t help but remark snidely, “I wasn’t aware I had a terminal illness, but go on.”

Will eventually has to sleep, and Jonathan ends up dozing off to music on his phone.

He wakes up to nearly a dozen missed calls and messages that make his chest flip, over and over again. First—coffee. His coffee tastes like dirt water in comparison to Nancy’s, but he’s not going to waltz in after leaving the way he did last night. He drinks a few cups, waits until he doesn’t feel like sleeping, and checks his texts.

 

_Nancy: Jonathan, we’re really sorry_

_Nancy: Please come over so we can talk_

 

Nancy called him maybe ten times. He can tell how hesitant she must’ve been, since there’s a twenty minute gap between the two messages. Steve on the other hand … Jonathan doesn’t go through all of them, since there are so many texts. It’s mostly spamming, Steve begging Jonathan come over and sending pictures of dogs to make up for it. He hates how he smiles at how much their personalities bleed through their actions, how much he misses them after one night apart.

He swallows all his nervousness and walks with heavy steps to their apartment. He stares at the door for a few minutes, fist raised to knock, but he doesn’t end up doing it since the door opens, nearly knocking him in the face.

“Jonathan! I’m so sorry, oh shit—“

“Nancy,” he laughs, his breath stolen and he’s not sure if it’s from nearly being hit or seeing Nancy. It’s only been twelve or so hours since he last saw her, but it feels much longer. “It’s fine.”

“Jonathan … you know we’re—“

“I do.”

“Let me say—“

“No.”

“Seri-“

His mouth cracks into a slight grin. “Yup.”

“Steve had to go to work,” she explains, “otherwise he’d be here smothering you with apologies.”

“Not surprising.”

They’re both red-cheeked and smiling, Jonathan’s hands fumbling into his pockets as Nancy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been thinking I need a break from studying. Maybe go out and be a person enjoying their day.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it—“

She hits his shoulder lightly. “Do you really need an invitation?”

He doesn’t, not really. “I _want_ one.”

“And I want a car and twenty grand, yet here we are.” She raises an expectant eyebrow and he continues to stare. “Seriously? What, do you want me to go down on one knee?”

“You’re so extra, god, wha—“

He doesn’t expect her to drop to one knee and look at him like _that_ , with the stars again, her blue eyes bright and bold. “Jonathan Byers, will you get coffee with me?”  

It—Jesus, he needs her to stop. He doesn’t like the somersaults in his chest and how badly he wants to kiss her. He _wants_ her. Jonathan doesn’t know a lot of things, but this he knows. He knows with every fibre of his being. “Nancy Wheeler, you’re an idiot. But yes. _Only_ if you’re paying.”

He’s only joking, not expecting Nancy to hoop her arm around his shoulders when she locks her door. “Oh Jonathan—I’d buy you _ten_ cups of coffee if you asked.” Something about the way she says it leads Jonathan to believe she’s not really joking.

Jonathan doesn’t wonder why she’s touching him so casually, or why her hand shifts to his until they’re walking, hand-in-hand. He just fixates in how they’re touching and hopes she doesn’t mind how sweaty his hands are.

“There’s this board game cafe about twenty minutes away. I went with Steve once,” she suggests.

Jonathan pretends to gasp when they exit the building, pushing past the doors and out into the cold streets. “And without me?”

“You had work,” she says almost shyly, and they both laugh.

“I feel bad. You guys never have time to yourselves since I’m always with you.”

“You know we _want_ you with us, right? None of this is ever out of pity. And sure, we spend most of our time with you, but we make time for ourselves. Wednesday night is usually date night.”

Nancy talks the entire walk to the cafe about their dates and tells him stories, prompted by each of his questions. He likes listening to her, hear her have to stop because she keeps laughing, and he likes hearing how she vividly describes the time Steve broke a cart in Walmart.

Jonathan orders a tiramisu and Nancy opts for a pie, the two each getting their own cups of coffee. It’s fairly empty, but it’s not like Jonathan would notice otherwise—all he sees, all he can ever _see_ are Nancy and Steve.

“So Steve kinda told me about this, but I thought I’d shoot my shot and don’t worry, I won’t push. But dating …” At Jonathan’s bemused look, she hastily adds, “at least tell me why!”

He conveniently sips his coffee, appreciating how large his cup is and that it hides part of his face. But then he has to place it on the table, actually _answer_ her, and he doesn’t know how. “I—I’m just not there yet. I like how everything is and I don’t want that to change, not yet. Besides, I’m practically dating you and Steve.”

Sometimes, Jonathan wishes he could just shut the fuck up.

But Nancy just laughs and says, “Fair enough.”  

They spend another hour in the cafe, Jonathan elated and Nancy frustrated when he beats her in a game of chess.

He’s uncontrollably giddy, definitely out of character for Jonathan, but can you blame him? He just beat _Nancy Wheeler._ No accomplishment can live up to this. “I’m _so_ going to tell Steve—“

“I’ll end you.”

They stop by the grocery store to pick up some things for Nancy and Steve, mainly for tonight’s dinner, and it’s around two in the afternoon when they reach the apartment.

“You wanna stay?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

She makes them cups of tea and they take their usual seats on the carpeted floor, eventually letting _Brooklyn Nine Nine_ play on their small television screen. They sit in a comfortable silence, knee pressed against knee, their pinkies faintly brushing. Jonathan must be imagining her hand slowly and gradually inching closer, until she’s got hers on top of his.

“Hey Jonathan?”

He turns to look at her, heart seizing when she’s so damn close, closer than before. She’s barely whispering and he can hear her perfectly, her voice soft and careful.

“Yeah, Nancy?”

Maybe he’s leaning in, maybe she’s leaning in, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter because Steve bursts inside, flinging his briefcase across the room, it landing with a thud that makes them both flinch, rapidly pulling apart. “Nance, I’m hooome—Jonathan! Jonathan, man, we are so—”

“Don’t apologize,” Nancy warns as Steve marches towards them.

He immediately frowns as he works on loosening his tie. It occurs to Jonathan how he’s never seen what Steve wears to his shifts at the bank, looking dapper and proper in a suit, something about his sleeves rolled up adding onto how unfairly attractive he is. “Why not?”

“Jonathan doesn’t like apologies, apparently.”

Steve quirks up an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards into a mischievous grin. “Really? Well in that case, I’m sorry, so, so, so sorry—”

“Steve,” Jonathan says shortly. “Stop.”

“What’re you gonna do about it, Johnny Boy?”

Does he have to say it like _that?_

Jonathan smirks and braces himself against the couch’s left leg. “I can leave again.”

“No, no, no, don’t—” Steve stops himself at Jonathan and Nancy’s snort of laughter, narrowing his eyes at them. “You asshole. But I am getting a hug.”

“No, you’re no—” _Oh, you are,_ Jonathan thinks when Steve sinks to the floor and flings his arms around Jonathan, pulling him into a tight hug.  He lets out a shocked grunt, and doesn’t complain when Steve remains with his arms around Jonathan’s torso, finding himself squeezing back.

Steve eventually pulls away, beaming at Jonathan before he reaches over his lap to briefly peck Nancy’s lips. “What’re we watching?”

“Brooklyn Nine Nine,” Nancy answers.

“Ooh!” He enthuses, wrapping an arm around Nancy’s shoulder as she nestles her head into his. The sight is captivating enough, so Jonathan excuses himself under the pretense of getting water, secretly retrieving his camera from his backpack. They’re too focussed on the show, eyes glued to the screen, so they don’t notice when he positions himself at the end of the hall or snaps a series of pictures.

They’re beautiful. So, so beautiful.

“Stop being a creep and watch with us, Jonathan.”

“I’m not—”

“ _Jonathan._ Sit.”

He gives in at Nancy’s sharp tone, walking over. Nancy’s scooted over, patting the space between her and Steve, and Jonathan squeezes in. Steve’s foot presses up against his and Nancy lolls her head onto his shoulder all so innocently.

Jonathan’s never been more comfortable in his life.

  


Jonathan’s not sure how he makes it through finals unscatched and with marks he’s actually proud of, but he does, and they celebrate. Steve’s happier than they are, especially since a good chunk of their time can go back to being with him, and declares that he’ll plan something special. Nancy and Jonathan share identical eyerolls, but humour him anyway.

“Bowling,” Jonathan reads, squinting up at the sign. “You took us bowling?”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve confirmed that you can read, Byers,” Steve snarks, crossing his arms as the three of them stand in front of the entrance. “Surprise!”

“No.”

“Oh my god, _yes._ ”

“You know,” Nancy says, pulling her large hood over her head, “when you said surprise, I thought you would make us something to eat.”

“But that’s what I always do.”

“Exactly. So it’d be a surprise.”

Jonathan bites back a laugh as Steve rolls his eyes, jabbing a finger towards Nancy. “Nance, you’re the tiebreaker. Should we stay or should we go?”

Nancy looks between the pair of them, chewing on her lower lip. “I mean … we’ve never done it before …”

Steve triumphantly cheers and repeatedly pokes Jonathan’s cheek, who sighs and allows Steve to pull him in, his other hand dragging Nancy as well, chanting, “Come on, come on, come on!”

Jonathan has never bowled before, and it shows, his first attempt knocking over a grand total of zero bowling pins.

“So _this_ is why you didn’t want to go. You’re terrible. You’re actual trash.”

Jonathan picks up a bowling ball, trying not to falter, and shoves it into Steve’s hands. “Oh yeah? Let’s see if you can do it, Harrington,” he quips.

“What is it with you two and your need to prove yourselves? You think knocking pins over with a ball makes you a _man?_ ”

“I can’t help myself. Steve’s just so annoying,” Jonathan says under his breath. He stands next to an amused and smirking Nancy as Steve swings the ball back and forth between his fingertips.

“Annoyingly cute!” He retorts, making Jonathan wonder if he had supernatural-hearing.

“No, just annoying!” Nancy calls out, prompting Steve to turn around and blow her a kiss.

“Can you shut up and throw the ball?”

“Wasn’t tal—oh shit, okay, now I am.” He shuts up and swings the ball forwards, and because the universe was the universe, he naturally knocks all the pins over, save for one. “You were saying, Byers?”

“I said that you’re annoying.”

Nancy coughs to mask her laugh, fondly rolling her eyes as she jumps off the counter and up to her feet. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“But you love us anyway,” Steve says, approaching her and brushing their noses together.

“Mm, unfortunately.” She cranes her head to look at Jonathan, and they share a knowing look at the memory from the club, weeks ago. “Now let me you show how it’s done.”

Steve laughs and Jonathan just grins, watching Nancy grab a bowling ball and take her stance. “Okay, Nance, I see you.”

It comes as no surprise when she knocks over all her pins, Nancy wheeling around and grinning brightly.

There’s a lot of cheering and clapping on Jonathan and Steve’s part, Nancy furiously blushing. “People are staring.”

“Let em,” Steve murmurs into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “Now let’s see if Jonathan can redeem himself. The bar’s set pretty low.”

Steve saying his first name should _not_ make Jonathan smile as dopily as it does, yet here he is, glad he can scurry off to hide his face.

Jonathan eventually does better as their game progresses. His last attempt has six pins down, which elicits a monstrously-loud round of applause and whooping, loud enough that the squeaky, pimpled manager tells them in a cracking voice, “Uhh … could you guys please keep it down?” which successfully sends them into a fit of laughter.

On their walk back, Jonathan asks, “So, what do you guys want for dinner?”

“I … I may have planned a certain meal back home. Cooked it in the morning.”

“Well, what is it?” Nancy inquires.

“Part two of the surprise!”

Pizza. Steve had prepared homemade _pizza._ “Is it possible to love you even more than I already do?” Nancy says in complete awe, peppering Steve with kisses, Jonathan vaguely wondering the same thing.

“I know, I know, I’m the _best_ —”

“Debatable,” Jonathan coughs.

As always, Steve’s cooking tastes like something crafted by Gordon Ramsay, Jonathan and Nancy devouring the entire platter he’d made without any leftovers.  They spend the rest of the night doing random bullshit. Someone, Jonathan never figures out who, grabs his camera without him noticing and floods it with dozens of pictures of him, then of him leaning against Steve, then of him and his hands laced with Nancy. He gets them to agree to a photoshoot of sorts; Nancy’s more reluctant, but Steve manages to convince her, and he’s reminded once again by their breathtaking gorgeousness and how perfect they are together.

He captures this one picture out of pure luck and it makes his chest stir; Steve kissing Nancy’s forehead, with one of his long arms snaked around her waist, and Nancy’s eyes shut and mouth extending into a smile. He decides it’s his favourite one from the entire night.

“I’m not going to fall asleep on you.”

“You will!”

“I won’t.”

“Is this something worth shouting about?” Nancy calls from the kitchen, before walking over to them with an amused look and a cup of tea in her hand.

Nestling his head on Jonathan’s chest, Steve sleepily murmurs, “Johnny Boy says I’m gonna fall asleep on him. I’m not gonna!”

“And _I’m_ saying that Steve is full of bullshit,” he shoots back, shifting on their couch to give Steve some more room.

“Your chest is comfortable. Nancy’s chest is bumpy—”

“ _Hey._ ”

“—In the best way possible.”

Nancy shakes her head, mouth pulled into the faintest of smiles, and lowers herself until she’s sitting right next to them on the floor. “Here,” she says, thrusting her cup into Jonathan’s face.

“I didn’t ask.”

She tilts the cup towards him again. “It’s chamomile. Your favourite.”

“...You know me too well.”

She tips the cup backwards, slowly and carefully into his mouth.  He tries not to smile as she does so, but then she starts to, mouth curving upwards into a grin, and it’s impossible to refrain from it anymore. “Good, right?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping his chin when some of the tea splashes as Nancy pulls the cup back. “So, are you two going back to Hawkins for break?”

“My mom would kill me if I didn’t,” she responds bluntly, “you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He pauses, a realization dawning upon him. “This … this is going to be the longest we’ve spent apart since we’ve been friends.”

“Shit. Yeah, it is. But we’ll find at least one day to see each other. Don’t think I can last that long without you anyway.”

Jonathan’s midway through swooning, when— “Ah, shit.”

“What?”

“Steve fell asleep on me.”

  
  


They don’t see each other much over break. They bus back together, but that remains about it.

As much as Jonathan’s happy to be back home, to play videogames with Will and lose horribly and have his mother’s fresh pancakes in the morning, he misses them. They’ve become such a vital part of his day, having weaved so intricately through his life without him noticing it, that being without them feels weird.

He receives multiple messages from Nancy and Steve, mostly snaps of them and their day. Steve’s staying with Nancy and her family since his parents are in Aruba for vacation (Nancy had dismissed it with an eye-roll emoji, and Jonathan’s not going to ask, but he will assume that they’re just shitty parents). It’s of them doing nothing in general, little things like getting dressed, Nancy bothering Mike about his “girlfriend”, and Steve touring the house via video for Jonathan’s sake.

“Who’re you texting?”

“Hmm?” Jonathan says, dazed, looking up at his mother who sits across him at the dining table. “No one.”

“Really? Because you’re smiling at your phone, Jonathan.” She continues to stare pointedly, and Jonathan can’t _not_ give in to his mother.

“You remember my friends? Steve and Nancy?”

Will knowingly smiles and opens his mouth to say something, and Jonathan kicks him from underneath the table before he gets the chance.

“Oh, yes! Are they in Hawkins, too?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I should meet them!”

He spends the next ten minutes persuading his mom _not to._ It’s not like he’s ashamed or anything, but the idea is more mortifying than not, and his mother’s always been able to read him like a book. If she sees a minute of Jonathan with them, he’ll have to explain everything.

No thanks.

“Fine,” she eventually gives in, “fine! You don’t think I’m ‘cool’—” which then leads to five more minutes of Jonathan arguing how that is not true, and how she’s being as unnecessary as possible.

His mother eventually laughs, throwing her head back. “Oh, I’m just playing. But you know we’ll visit the Wheeler household, anyway. Will here needs to drop his gift to Mike.” She nudges Will, who sinks further into his seat.

“I’ll tell Nancy and Steve to _hide_ then.”

They end up visiting on Christmas morning. His mother works a day shift— “don’t start with me, it’s extra money, and I’ll see you both after six”— and Nancy messaged Jonathan the night before that it was one hundred percent alright for him and his brother to spend the day with them.

“Will!”

“ _Mike!_ ”

Jonathan shoves his hands in his pockets as Will eagerly scurries off towards Mike, Nancy and Steve nowhere to be seen, until—

“Jonathan!”

“Johnny Boy!”

They envelop him into a group hug, cushioning him with warmth and comfort. He’s so goddamn relieved to see them, even if it’s only been a few days, inhaling their scents as they smother him. “You clearly haven’t missed me,” he jokes.

“God, I missed your snark,” Steve sighs into his shoulder.

“Excuse me, I’m plenty snarky.”

“Yeah, but Jonathan’s so extra with his—”

He pretends to turn back, says, “Wait, mom, come back!” only to have Steve grab his hand and pull him right back in. “You’re not leaving that easy. You’re stuck with us for the next six hours. Merry Christmas!”

Jonathan laughs as they all disentangle from each other. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“We missed you,” Nancy informs him, “very much. Now come meet my mom.”

“Wait, no—”

Karen Wheeler is two things, Jonathan observes: cheerful and kind. She has a blindingly-white smile, kind of resembles Nancy (looking her in the eyes is a difficult task considering how that’s where Nancy gets hers from), and is sweet. She immediately pulls Jonathan into a hug, and when he gets past the awkwardness (Steve grins at him from behind her), it’s almost pleasant. “I’m making cookies, and we’re watching Christmas movies in the living room!”

They head back to the living room after Karen tells Jonathan where everything is, adding that she’s alright if he wants a drink or two, just as long as he’s driving back.

“Your mom is …”

“Shut _up._ ”

“—Amazing.”

“Right?” Steve gushes, “absolute sweetheart, that woman.”

“I mean, I have no idea how _you_ came out of _her,_ ” Jonathan teases, narrowly avoiding her swat at his shoulder and gently placing his camera on the table. “But she’s great. I like her.”

“Speaking of moms …” Nancy says casually, draping herself on the very end of the couch, bringing her knees to her chest, “when can we meet yours?”

Steve snorts and takes the other hand, propping his feet onto Jonathan’s lap when he sits down. “I really want to meet the woman who raised the same two boys, one that turned out to be an absolute ray of _sunshine,_ ” he gestures to Will who smiles like an angel, then to Jonathan, “and the other who turned into Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way.”

Ebony Dark’ness … what? “What the—did you seriously just compare me to one of the most popular Harry Potter memes?”

“More importantly, why do you remember her entire name?” Nancy says, adding on to Jonathan’s confusion.

Steve shrugs. “It’s my contact name for Jonathan.”

“Shut the fuck _up,_ that is not—”

Nancy reaches over and lightly hits his arm right when Jonathan sees a small girl wandering towards them. “Up, up, up!”

“Holly, this is my friend Jonathan,” she introduces, pulling her up onto her lap as she giggles. “Jonathan, this is my _four year old_ sister, Holly. You wanna shake his hand, Holly?”

Steve, ever the dick, snickers into Jonathan’s shoulder as he formally shakes Holly’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Holly.”

She limply shakes his hand, looking anywhere but at him. “Okay.”

“Wow, Holly, what a fuckin savage—”

“ _Steve!_ ”

Nancy looks through options of what to watch and sends Holly off to get Mike and Will, while Jonathan demands Steve show him his phone.

“You—you asshole. You’re changing that right now.”

He does it, changing it to _Johnny Boy_ , and Jonathan accepts it. Eventually, Holly manages to get Will and Mike upstairs after enough wailing and screaming that the three of them can hear.

They play _Home Alone_ in the background, but no one pays any attention. Mike and Will talk in hushed whispers by their feet, subtly holding hands underneath a blanket strewn over their laps while sharing a cup of hot chocolate; Holly contently squirms in Nancy’s lap and fiddles with a rubix cube (Jonathan doesn’t question how she’s making progress). As for Jonathan, he's always been fine wherever Steve and Nancy are.

Setting an empty mug of hot chocolate onto the floor, Jonathan says, “So are you two staying in the same room or …?”

“Yes, and let me tell you, it’s a pleasure sleeping in the childhood bedroom of Nancy Wheeler.”

Jonathan looks at Nancy with pleading eyes. “Oh, I _have_ to see this.”

Nancy clamps one of her legs over Jonathan’s. “No way in hell.”

“Please? It’ll be your Christmas gift to me.”

“No way, you’re already getting a present, you’re not getting another one from me.” 

Jonathan balks, smile freezing. “You got me something?”

Steve nudges him. “Of course we did,” he says, “it’s fine if you didn’t—”

“I did. Of course I did.”

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan all grin with pinkened cheeks, Jonathan becoming hyper aware of how close they are: Steve’s legs resting on his lap, Nancy’s leg hooked around his, his hand on Nancy’s thigh, and Steve’s hand combing through Jonathan’s hair. It’s like a pull he can’t see, bringing them closer since September, and with another sharp tug, he wonders if their heartbeats are rapidly beating, too.

Thankfully, Karen enters with a platter of freshly-made cookies, setting it onto the table. Mike and Will feed each other, Will licking his lips with an embarrassed smile as he wipes icing away from the tip of Mike’s nose—how has Nancy not realized they’re dating yet?—and while Holly brings them the tray, she grabs a cookie in the process and smears it all over Nancy's face.

“Holly,” Nancy wheezes, as the toddler leans forward like she’s about to whisper something, only to press her face against Nancy’s cheek, trailing icing behind. “Excuse me. Mike, can you grab me a—”

Steve interrupts her. “Nah, nah, it’s all good. I think you look really cute with red and green on your face.”

“Oh yeah? Okay then. Here, Holly, go crazy on Steve.”

“Hey, wait, no, you like me—” Clearly, not as much as Steve thinks, because Holly cackles maniacally and climbs over their legs to drag the cookie Nancy gifted all over Steve’s face, wiping her fingers with his hair. “I will get my revenge one day, Mini-Wheeler. Hey, what’re you laughing about, Jonathan?”

“What, no, I don’t laugh, Steve, I’m Ebony Dark’ness—” Jonathan hisses when he feels a cookie press against the side of his cheek, whipping around to gawk at Nancy. “Is this what betrayal feels like?”

Eventually, everyone’s throwing cookies at each other and smearing icing, Steve involving Will and Mike with a, “You two think you can leave clean? Hell no—” and proceeding to grab the half-eaten cookie in Mike’s hand and shove it in his face.

“What the fuck—”

Karen doesn’t get mad since _at least you didn’t break anything,_ but they all resolve to clean up.

After enough begging on Jonathan’s part to see her bedroom, Nancy releases a heavy sigh. “If you take a picture of anything in my room, I’ll break your face,” she warns, and he promises to leave his camera in the living room.

Him and Steve fawn over the pinkness of the room and the numerous awards hung up (Jonathan's even more in awe of her intelligence and Steve beams pridefully as her calls her a genius), her bedroom even tidier than her room in New York. Nancy quietly glares at them from a spot in her bedroom, before they join her, one on the other side.

“Your mom’s coming at six, right? She’ll be here soon, should we exchange gifts?” Nancy suggests, leading to Jonathan nearly tripping down the stairway to grab his backpack.

He slings his backpack over his back, nearly tripping over Mike in the process. “You know, if you two keep kissing where anyone can find you, you _will_ get caught,” he teases.

Will pulls away from Mike’s mouth to roll his eyes at Jonathan. “Jonathan, I swear. I swear I’ll—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He thoroughly dishevels Will’s hair as he passes them on his way back upstairs.

“Bye, Jonathan.”  
“Bye, Mike.”

He’s inexplicably in a good mood as he walks back into Nancy’s childhood bedroom, beaming from head to toe. Steve and Nancy inch apart when they see him, both of them equally jumpy and jittery.

Jonathan quirks up an eyebrow, propping himself up on the other side of Nancy’s bed. “Were you two, gasp, gossiping about me?”

“Talking about how your head’s disproportionate to your body, actually.”

“And how your ass is really big. I’m guessing plastic surgery, but Nancy thinks you squat a lot.”

“Me? Exercise? Ha.”

Nancy chortles, reaching from underneath her bed and pulling out two nicely-wrapped gifts. “Who wants to open theirs first?”

Jonathan doesn’t have a chance to pretend to like he doesn’t desperately want to see what Nancy got him, before Steve raises his hand enthusiastically. “Me!”

She pushes the larger box covered in green wrapping paper and Steve happily tears it apart, tearing the top open. “You didn’t …”

“I did.”

Jonathan doesn’t follow sports, but he knows that Steve’s an avid baseball fan, so he figures it’s the jersey of some baseball team. He’s grinning from ear to ear, running his fingers over the material with disbelief.

“Look at the bottom.”

“NANCY,” he shrieks, “you got a _signed_ jersey? How?”

“What can I say? I’m magic.”

He tilts her chin up and says, “Damn straight,” before fervently kissing her.

Nancy looks outright enchanted when she pulls away, thrusting the other box towards Jonathan. “We both got you something, but it’s two separate things. To make it fair.”

“You guys didn’t—”

“Jonathan, shut up and open the first gift.”

He foots Steve’s thigh and hesitantly takes the box into his hands, slowly and cautiously unwrapping the wrapping.

“Are you not … oh my god. Jonathan, just—”

He gives Steve an aggravated huff before thinking, fuck it, and ripping it off. He opens the box up and his throat goes dry.

“It’s a mixtape,” Nancy explains without needing it, “you’ve got like, a dozen in your apartment from the two times I’ve been there. We also made a digital playlist, for your phone. It’s just … songs you like and songs that you’ve called shit, but we found you singing along to, anyway.”

He runs his thumb over the back, recognizing Steve’s messy scrawl. _For JOHNNY BOY._ “You guys, this is—”

“There’s more!” Steve puts _another_ box by Jonathan’s feet, looking seconds away from giggling. “I think you’ll like this one.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you wrapped this one?” Jonathan smirks, thumbing the uneven cuts and horrid taping.

Nancy groans while Steve flashes him the finger. “You talk too much. Open it.”

His fingers tingle as they unwork the wrapping, and his face whitens with shock. “No, this is … what the hell? You guys, oh my, the fuck, this is—” To save you from Jonathan’s incoherent babbling, in his hands, sits the box of an expensive camera that he’s only mentioned a few times. One he’s been saving up for. One he’s been dying to get his hands on. One that Steve and Nancy got him.

He’s not sure any string of words can show how grateful he is, but he’ll try anyway. “This is everything. You … you’ve got to know how much you both mean to me, right?”

“How could we not?” Nancy slides her hand over his, followed by Steve’s hand on his other one.

Jonathan’s cheeks suddenly ache from all the smiling and he holds their hands for a little longer before pulling two gifts out of his backpack, giving them one each.

“And you have the audacity to call me out for _my_ wrapping.”

“Jonathan …” Nancy lifts the book of poetry he bought her in awe, the same one she always quotes on her Instagram. Jonathan made sure she didn’t have it anywhere in her room before he bought it, and judging by the way she clutches it to her chest, she definitely wanted it.

Steve goes silent, staring at the video game he’d talked about for _days_ back in October. “You didn’t.”

“Is that your reaction to everything?”

“I’m gonna let that slide just this once. Jonathan, wow, thank you—”

He taps the thin frames he’d slipped underneath his legs when they opened their gifts, pulling it out into view. “There’s more.”

“You prick,” Nancy says. “You didn’t have to get us each two things, Jonathan, these things cost _money._ ”

“I’m aware of that, Nancy, thanks, but this isn’t anything expensive, don’t worry. Just something a little more personal? Here. Just look at it.”

He shoves the photograph in its frame forward, watching their faces break into uncontained joy.

“When did you take this?” Steve asks, swallowing heavily as his eyes flick back up to Jonathan.

“After we finished exams. It’s my favourite.” It’s the picture he adored from their mini-photoshoot, the one he couldn’t stop going back to. He knew they would like it just as much, both of their jaws slack and perpetual grins glued on to their faces.

“But we need one of—”

“One of me? Got that covered.” He gives Nancy the second photograph he framed, knowing one of them would be quick to snap at how they need one of all three of them together. It’s the one from the Italian restaurant, the same night he realized how bad he had it for Nancy.  He thinks about how much has changed, how everything afterwards came so easily and felt so right. He thinks about how ridiculous it is that out of all the people in the world, he ended up being neighbours with Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, becoming best friends with them, and later falling for them. Then he thinks about how it’s not all that ridiculous, not when Steve eyes him down as he tries an enchilada or Nancy makes him try every new brand of tea she buys and he's struck with this intense feeling of something he's never felt before. 

Nancy holds the photograph with both hands and with an unreadable expression. “I’m so glad I know you,” she says.

Jonathan’s about to say the same thing when Steve quickly follows with, “You’ve become one of the most important people in our lives and we mean that. Really.” His hand sits on Jonathan’s knee, and he’s definitely scooting closer.

Part of Jonathan has an inkling of where this is going, but he’s too distracted for the rest of him to catch up. But he does know enough that he wants to kill someone when Will screams, “JONATHAN, MOM’S HERE!”

Colour him bewildered when Nancy cries, “ _No!_ We had a plan! Steve, what do we do?”

“Fuck it,” Steve grunts, looking at Jonathan, “Look, I’m sorry if this ruins everything, but we needed to know. And I swear, we had a really romantic monologue planned. Just—push me away if you don’t want this,” he says quickly before closing the space between them and pressing his mouth against Jonathan’s.

Out of every fantasy he’s ever had about Nancy and Steve, kissing them was not one of them. Maybe it seemed too torturous to imagine it when he was sure it would never happen, he’s not really sure. But he figures that no amount of dreaming or wistful thinking could ever live up to the reality, to this moment that feels as climatic as it so rightfully deserves to be.

Steve kisses him, and Jonathan kisses him back.

It’s as simple as that, but it feels like everything’s a little brighter, shots of electricity sparking when Steve grabs his face, either hand on either cheek. “Was that—was that…”

“Jonathan!”

“ _GIVE ME A SECOND, WILL!_ ” He screams, hoping Karen doesn’t mind all the shouting. Or that he’s in her daughter’s bedroom, kissing her boyfriend, about to kiss her. “That was … that was everything,” he says breathlessly, “I’ve wanted to—”

Nancy leans forward, the back of her hand moving to Jonathan’s hair. “I’m sure whatever you’re about to say is really sweet, but the clock’s ticking, and I’ll lose my shit if I don’t get to do this before the new year.” They kiss each other at the same time, tentative, slow but still with urgency, something that feels wholeheartedly _right_ to do.

Nancy pulls away, sitting back next to Steve, and they’re both looking at him and nervously smiling. Jonathan’s certain this time that the stars are there, twinkling in their eyes. He wonders how oblivious he was to have missed them in the first place, unable to keep from smiling back.

“ _JONATHAN!_ ”

Goddammit. Jonathan stands up, nearly tripping over himself as he scoops the mixtape and camera into his backpack. “So that was nice.”

“I can’t tell if you’re letting us down or if you really are that flustered, Jonathan.” Because his heart has steadied itself, Steve is irritable, and mostly because Jonathan wants to kiss him again, he wordlessly kisses him, relishing in the feeling of Steve’s mouth against his.

Steve smirks, touching his lips when Jonathan reluctantly pulls back. “Is this how you’re going to tell me to shut up from now on?”

He laughs, ducking his head, remembering once more that Will and his mother are waiting for him. “Look, just … just call me? Many times. If you want. I’m going back tomorrow for work, so, you know. And if you want to hang out when you get back, that’s cool.” He backs away, trying not to focus on how cocky and smug they both look.

“Oh, wait, I should—” He darts back to kiss Nancy, just to make things even is his excuse, feeling her lips form a smirk against his. “I’ll see you guys on the thirty-first.”

He’s about to descend down the stairway when Steve calls out, “Just to make sure, you _LIKE US,_ right? Like, _like-like_ us right?”

“DEFINITELY.”

Will glares at him from the bottom and Jonathan tries not to scoff, as if he wouldn’t want to spend more time with Mike, and they skip out to their mother who narrows her eyes when they slip inside her car.

“Do I want to know why you were taking so long?”

“We were having a good time,” Jonathan says innocently, and she doesn’t push.

Will proceeds to ask her about her day and tell her about what they did at the Wheeler residence. Jonathan can’t stop from smiling throughout the car ride, and when his mother asks why, he shrugs and says it was a good day.

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, there was a lot more i wanted to include in this chapter, but i figured it made more sense to split it into three parts! the third one should be finished within the next week or so. but you know, comments always improve my pace. ;)
> 
> thank you for the lovely comments and kudos from the last chapter! i'll get around to responding to them ASAP. 
> 
> also, i loooooved this chapter what the fuck can i just say a few things
> 
> Holly Wheeler is an ICON, she truly is a savage, i love her. i love BYLER and i want them to have happiness, always. all the flirting and the "Johnny Boy's" and Nancy holding Jonathan's hand, the stancy picture .... ugh, be still my heart. hmmmm, is there anything else??? oH YEAH THEY GOT TOGETHER WHATS UP i hope it wasn't too cheesy/corny and felt right. i initially wanted a big speech, but then i thought of how the scene for when steve and nancy return home and Jonathan's an overthinking shit and nervous af, and went, nah. INTERRUPT THEM. 
> 
> i won't say too much about the next chapter but like,,,, stancy wants to meet Joyce and Joyce wants to meet Stancy???? interesting


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's FLUFF CENTRAL up in here. also, this chapter is so fucking long, I'm so sorry ejfsiojfiesfjei.

The days between the day after Christmas and New Year’s Eve last an eternity.

Jonathan has no idea how he’s supposed to last five days without them, without Steve’s scrambled eggs, without Nancy’s chamomile tea, without being _with_ them.

Because all of these months together, having them in whatever capacity for _just_ a few minutes of a day is ingrained in him, like a routine.

Now, everything’s thrown off.

The silence is too loud, and his days consist of sorting through and developing the pictures he’s taken this semester for classes and for fun, going to work, and sleeping.

A few months ago, that would’ve been a perfectly suitable day.

Then again, a few months ago, he didn’t know Nancy and Steve.

He’s being productive, at least—he’s been sitting on his pictures for ages, and he’s got a bunch from his classes that he’s proud of. Not to say that Nancy and Steve make him lazy and someone who can’t do anything but gawk at them (though, that does take up most of his time): he’s been busy since September. School. Work. Having _friends_.

It feels good, feels _right_ to spend a lazy afternoon sorting, piling through, and developing pictures like in high school, doing it manually because it’s so much better that way. It does well to take his mind off of Nancy and Steve.

Especially when he can’t stop thinking about their lips against his or about how much that meant. They do message him back and forth, but it’s not the same as breathing the same air as them and being able to reach out and touch them.

It’s stupid. Jonathan can handle a few days without them, but as petulant as it sounds, he doesn’t _want to._

Plus, his fingers keep hovering over his phone’s keyboard, typing then erasing. He can’t find the right words to say; he’s a _photographer,_ he lets pictures speak for him. Feelings are a different ballpark, not something he’s used to. Even if he could string along the right set of words, he refuses to talk about his feelings over _text._

After a lifetime and a half, New Years’ Eve finally arrives. Jonathan wakes up for a morning shift to a text from Steve in their group chat, telling him that he and Nancy will be back at six.

_we missed you very much ;)_

Attached to that message, is a picture of him and Nancy in matching sweaters, one of her arms hooked around his neck, both of them beaming. There’s an N on hers, an S on his, and this confirms his theory that Karen Wheeler is a modern-day Molly Weasley.

Jonathan smiles as he pours himself a cup of black coffee.

_Dorks … Don’t tell me there’s a third sweater for me?_

Nancy’s reply is instantaneous and he’s never been so giddy: _obviously._

 

 

He’s pacing back and forth at the bus station, earbuds blaring music way too loudly, probably more than is good for his ears. The December wind bites at his exposed skin, and he regrets not bringing a pair of gloves, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. The streets are full with people, probably hastening on their way to their New Years’ plans, the ground coated with snow. Not the pretty kind, the kind seeped with mud, brown and pure slush at this point, but it’s better than ice.

Because if it was ice, Jonathan would be face-first onto the ground, from the way he walks back and forth down the street. The logical part of him tells him he has no reason to be nervous. The other part he can’t decipher from all the screaming, because holy shit, they’re _back,_ he missed them, they kissed him, he kissed them—

He’s not sure how he didn’t notice the bus approaching the stop or the doors opening up, but he does hear their intermingled voices: “Jonathan!”

His head whips so fast he hears a faint _crack_ and he’d surge right forward, run up to them, if there weren’t five people in front of them, stepping down onto the pavement. Nancy and Steve walk hand-in-hand, eagerly skidding towards him.

Nancy tackles him into a ferocious hug. He staggers backwards, nearly toppling over and laughing into her hair. “I’m gonna take a guess and say you missed me?”

Nancy scrunches her nose, adjusting her hat with a glove-covered hand. “Not one bit, actually.”

He’s seconds away from calling bullshit when he hears, “Just leave me here with all of our shit to hug him, that’s cool, I get it, Nance.”

Jonathan’s mouth splits into a grin as he and Nancy disentangle, his eyebrows lifting. “You can say you missed me, you know. It won’t ruin your image to say you want a hug.”

“What image?” Nancy snorts, sounding giddy, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“You’re such a _dick._ The both of you,” he adds, right as he flings his arms around Jonathan’s chest, pulling him in.

Jonathan’s infinitely times lighter. He forces himself to do something other than stand there like a love-struck fool once he releases Steve, picking up one of their bags. “Not sure if you noticed, but it’s freezing, and my hands might actually fall off, so.” He jerks his head towards the direction of the apartment building.

“Your fault for not wearing gloves,” Steve chastises.

“Oh well.” Nancy shrugs, intertwining their fingers. “Guess we’ll just have to hold your hand, then.”

Steve laughs a, “Real slick, babe.”

Jonathan realizes that she’s flirting and that this probably isn’t the first time either.

Their walk back to the apartment consists of Hawkins-related stories, how Steve may or may not have (definitely did) cried when Karen presented him her present, the aforementioned sweater with his initial woven on, which led Jonathan to the startling revelation that they _asked_ her to make another one for him.

They return to the apartment, all of their suitcases sitting in a corner of the room.

Nancy and Steve settle on a seat on their usual spaces on the floor. Jonathan follows suit, shuffling until he’s sitting next to Steve, their thighs brushing.

The silence confuses him, and he considers waiting for one of them to say, do something. But then he figures they already made the first move, the ball’s in _his_ court now, and he’s done waiting.

Jonathan tilts his head to look at them and clears his throat, ignoring the thumping in his chest. “Can I kiss one of you?”

Nancy and Steve burst into laughter. They turn to each other and play a round of rock-paper-scissors—fucking _nerds,_ he thinks fondly—and when Nancy’s rock trumps his scissors, he leans across Steve and they both meet in the middle.

The kiss is chaste and cautious at first, them trying to find the right pace.

But then Jonathan’s hand cards through her hair and she _gets it,_ bracketing an arm around his neck to pull him closer. He makes a strangled noise against her mouth, so lost in the wonder that is Nancy Wheeler. There isn’t the same urgency, the _now or never_ of Christmas. They take their time, soft and eager and ready. “Holy _fuck._ ”

They sheepishly draw back.

Steve, slumped against the couch, licks his lips. “Did I—sorry, continue, go back, I … I don’t think I can get used to that.”

Jonathan swallows. “In a good way?”

“ _Definitely._ ”

Nancy rolls her eyes, the way she does with him, her nonverbal and perfectly crafted _I love you._ “Idiot,” she mutters, devoid of any meaning, and grabs either side of his face, pulling him into a searing kiss.

“‘M your _favourite_ idiot—”

“Mf, shut up—”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jonathan’s throat stops working. Every cell in his body refuses to function, because he goes completely blank when Nancy’s fingers start to unbutton Steve’s shirt, his fingers drifting to her waist. It reminds him of November, when they’d fool around in front of him constantly frustrating him in more ways than one, leading him to the startling revelations that those assholes did it on purpose.

Nancy reaches out for him, aimlessly waving a hand towards him. What’s he supposed to do, high-five her? She grabs a fistful of his shirt and yanks him closer with a firm grip, until he nearly topples into them, reminded again of her seemingly inhumane strength. Steve reaches for him, too, a hand gripping his inner thigh.

He knows where this is going, and it’s a possibility that has his toes curl and uncurl with anticipation.  
Nancy pulls away, her thumb grazing Steve’s bottom lip dazedly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve says.

“I’m just gonna—” Jonathan wipes the look of confusion off his face and kisses him, relishing in the shocked noise he makes that turns into a groan. His fingers run through Steve’s hair, their noses brushing together, and he tugs gently, experimentally. Another groan, and Jonathan’s a goner _._

His heart pounds in his chest, because he _knows_ what he wants to do next.

He can do this.

He presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth before Steve whines. Breathing out, he pulls his shirt over his head.

“I wanted to do that,” Steve pouts, his last word breaking as his eyes shamelessly trail down Jonathan’s chest. He takes a sharp breath in, grinning like he’s seconds away from whistling. “And suddenly, you’re forgiven.”

Jonathan smirks. “Who’s next?”

Steve unbuttons his shirt rapidly, flinging it next to Jonathan’s, and stretches his leg to foot Nancy’s thigh. “You’re up,” he tells her slyly.

Nancy shrugs her blouse off, dropping it next to her.

It’s radio-quiet. With the three of them sitting on the floor, shirtless, Jonathan continues to glance back and forth between Steve and Nancy in complete awe, between his few strands of chest hair and the birthmark right above the swell of her breast. He tries not to laugh. He feels like such a kid, a dumb, lovestruck _kid._

Might as well act like one.

He licks his lips, still faintly tasting Nancy’s lip gloss, strawberry his best guess, when he hooks his arm around Steve’s neck and pulls him towards himself. Steve makes a startled noise, and Jonathan freezes, scared he moved too quickly.

He’s quickly reassured when Steve climbs onto his lap with another grin.

Their noses bump when they both lean in, until Jonathan angles his head to the side, and they find a steady rhythm. Steve wraps his legs around his waist, his foot digging into his back and tongue in Jonathan’s mouth. Jonathan could do this _forever._

He reaches out for Nancy the same time Steve does, both of them reeling her in with a pull of her hands.

Nancy pushes herself onto her knees, lifting up to nip at Jonathan’s shoulder and press a cool hand to his abdomen. The knot in his stomach unties and ties, over and over, mind blanking when Nancy’s teeth graze onto the right spot and Steve’s knuckle drags down his chest.

“You’re hard.”

“Oh, really, I hadn’t noticed—”

“ _I_ made you hard,” he says proudly, beaming down at Jonathan.

“It was a team effort, you ass,” Nancy says, flicking Steve’s shoulder, sounding a little proud herself.

“ _We_ made you hard,” he corrects, sharing a smile with Nancy.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He should get a medal for how he manages to say that without his voice cracking as he arches an eyebrow; a silent dare.  

He can see the gears shifting in Steve’s mind, and nearly laughs when he babbles, “Can we _please_ take you to our bedroom already?”

Then he does laugh, because Steve’s cute, nodding earnestly. “So polite,” he teases when Nancy drags him and Steve up to their feet, tugging them towards their bedroom.

“You wanna keep flirting or you wanna do something else with our mouths?”

And, well. He can’t argue with that.

 

 

“Nance, we broke him.”

“Stop poking him, he’s not dead.”

“Maybe he is. Maybe we fucked him to _death._ ”

“You’re good, Steve Harrington, but your dick isn’t murderous.”   

“I’m _good?_ Can you say that again, I need it for my ringtone.”

“Never mind, I take that back.”

“No take-backs!”

Jonathan pants, breaths slowing down as he intently watches Nancy and Steve quip back and forth, Steve curled up by her side in between them, Nancy’s arm draped around his shoulder, her fingertips grazing Jonathan’s shoulder.  He ingrains the image in his head: their legs all entangled, how the sweat glistens on all of their bodies, and the red marks on Steve’s neck and Nancy’s collarbone. He’s half-tempted to sprint to his apartment and grab his camera, because they’re _gorgeous,_ but he doesn’t want to miss the afterglow.

He’s not exhausted and Steve’s dick isn’t murderous like Nancy said, he’s just taking a few seconds to recollect himself. He’s a little overwhelmed, the past half hour feeling like a surreal dream. Sometimes he’s amazed that _this_ is his life; that not only he is best friends with Nancy and Steve, but he has the privilege of being their boyfriend. It’s something taken out of those cheesy romance novels his mother would always read, the ones Jonathan always called bullshit; he never understood why she believed in them, either, not with her disastrous relationship with his piece-of-shit father. She’d always shrug, call Jonathan a cynic with a teasing smile, before telling him seriously, “I believe in love, Jon.”

He didn’t get it before.

He kinda gets it now, even if he still thinks his criticism of those god-awful novels are still right.

It’s not even about the mind-numbing pleasure or the agonizingly hot sight of Nancy and Steve, in bed. The best parts weren’t even in the sex; the way Steve kept asking if Jonathan was alright, the way Nancy snorted into Jonathan’s shoulder, laughing that _I’ll forgive you for ruining these sheets because that was incredibly hot,_ Jonathan promising to buy them new ones. All the fumbling, the in-between-the-scene moments, made it more special than he could magined.

To remind them he’s still alive, he turns over and pokes Nancy. “I think you guys did kinda break me,” he breathes out.

Nancy laughs, “Mission accomplished,” while Steve happily murmurs into her arm, “Told ya so. And don’t sell yourself short, Jonathan. You kinda broke us, too. Your _whimpers,_ holy shit—”

“Ooh, and when you—”

He sighs into Steve’s neck as they both list off things like a checklist. He’s not embarrassed, not in the slightest, even if the tips of his ears turn red.

“So?”

“Hmm?” Jonathan blinks at the sound of Nancy’s voice, and it appears that he must have lodged his head into his ass.

“We asked if we were the best you ever had.” Because it’s Steve, Jonathan doesn’t know if they’re serious or not. He’d inched further down the bed, one of his legs tangled with Jonathan and his head comfortably resting against Nancy’s stomach, his big brown eyes batting up at him.

Without missing a beat, Jonathan answers, “Yes,” holding on to the look Nancy and Steve share, how they _bump fists,_ before adding, “But then again, you are the only ones I’ve ever had, so my judgement really isn’t that—” He’s cut off when Nancy whacks his shoulder with a pillow, followed by Steve pillowing his face.

Jonathan cracks his knuckles and with a deadpan expression, grabs a pillow and flings it at Nancy, then Steve in quick succession. They both gasp and it’s an all-out war.

It ends with a Nancy-Jonathan alliance after the three of them nearly knock everything in the room over, chasing each other around their bed. It ends with that bond because Steve’s too tall and it started to annoy Nancy when he kept jumping every time she tried to hit his head.

“Alright, alright, uncle, assholes, uncle!” Steve grits out, lifting his hands up from the floor.

Nancy and Jonathan both pause, pillows raised mid-air, right next to his face, before dropping them next to his head.

Steve mutters something along the lines of, “you guys are _terrifying,_ ” and Jonathan swallows a grin, helping him up.

Nancy grins triumphantly and they high-five. “And now I’m sweating again from a _pillow-fight,_ ” she laughs incredulously, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m going to shower,” she informs with a pinched expression. “And you should too, you both smell like piss.”

She squirms when Jonathan buries his face into her neck in retaliation from behind, even though she’s not wrong, not in the slightest. He presses himself into her back just ‘cause, and Nancy shrieks, tickling him until he backs off.

Stepping back into his boxers, Steve calls out, “Love you too, babe!” and doesn’t contain his grin when she flips him off over her shoulder, tip-toeing by the mess of pillows into the bathroom.

Jonathan picks up one of Steve’s shirts—he’s got a pile in the corner—and slips into it, the material smelling so much like him that Jonathan decides he’s not giving it back. Now he understands why Steve’s always running out of clothes and Nancy refuses to give any of his shirts back to him; they’re comfortable, and it’s like a hug from Steve himself, the material carrying the same warmth and comfort he does.

On their way out of the bedroom, Steve bumps his hip against Jonathan’s. “You look good in my shirt.”

He’s glad Steve can’t see his face as he rifles through their pantries for something to eat. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a fact.”

Jonathan turns, bracing against the kitchen counter with a hint of a grin. “Boo. You can do better.”

“Alright, alright,” he gives in, striding towards Jonathan. “How about … I’ve been thinking of doing this for nearly a week, and the fact that I _finally_ can is just …” The rest of his sentence gets lost when Steve envelops him into a gentle kiss, soft lips pressed against his own. Jonathan hopes his _me too_ is conveyed by his eager response. His hands fly anywhere and everywhere, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

They’re about a breath apart when he mumbles, “Better?”

“Maybe. Just a little.” Jonathan ducks his head, wondering how on earth Steve Harrington manages to make him as flustered as he does. “I’ll tell you a secret: I’ve been thinking about it, too. And before you say _anything,_ don’t. Let’s—”

Nancy walks in on them kissing. Neither of them notice until Jonathan looks over Steve’s shoulder to see her wearing _his_ shirt, her hair falling free around her shoulders, and a dopey look in her eyes.

“Pervert,” he teases.

Nancy scoffs, shuffling around the couch towards them. “You say as if you didn’t just watch Steve and I fuck, you hypocrite,” she scoffs, kissing Steve in greeting.

“ _Burn!_ ” followed by Steve hissing as Jonathan elbows him.

She peers at the cereal box behind Jonathan and frowns. “We have no milk.”

“Ah, _fuck._ ”

They order pizza, sitting on the carpeted floor with their legs lined up, and Jonathan tries not to show his horror when Nancy flips the lid open, revealing half of the pizza as pineapple covered. “What the hell?”

He fails.

“Alright, which one of you am I disgusted with?”

Steve cackles, and says through a mouthful of cheese, “For once, it’s her.”

Nancy hisses. “Traitor!”

Jonathan widens his eyes, and says seriously, “I have no idea who you are anymore.”

“You’re so dramatic. It’s a topping, Jonathan.”

“A disgusting topping.”

She stares at Steve unblinkingly and defiantly, firing back, “At least I don’t eat my mac and cheese with ketchup.”

“That’s—what the _fuck?_ ”

“Nancy, how _could you?_ ”

They launch into a debate, Nancy and Steve trying to defend their opinions. It’s a losing battle because Jonathan’s already judging them and branded them as some other breed of human, his eyes crinkling with laughter anyway.

He shakes his head and takes another slice of _cheese_ pizza. “I cannot believe I like you both.”

“But you _do,_ you like us and our gross food habits.”

“Uh, _yours_ is disgusting, mine is perfectly reasonable,” Nancy snarks, wrinkling her nose.

Jonathan straightens as Steve launches back with a retort, interrupting, “So what is this?” and immediately hating how it comes out.

Nancy and Steve exchange a glance, neither of them seeming to know what to say until she takes his hand into hers. “We’re for real about this, Jonathan. We like you.”

“Like, a lot,” Steve continues, “it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s kind of weird you didn’t notice—like. We weren’t subtle at all.”

“You think I just _really_ liked holding your hands?”

“That I was super invested in your love life for a platonic reason?”

“That I wore shorts in winter?”

“That I was _shirtless_ in—“

“Okay,” he interrupts, “I get it. I’m an oblivious idiot.”

Nancy nods. “And we still like you.”

He can’t help but ask, “So when—how did you—?”

“Yeah, Nance, how did we realize how whipped we were for Johnny Boy over here?” He wears a knowing smirk, looking up at her from his spot in her lap.

Nancy’s cheeks burn and she stares at a stain by Jonathan’s feet when she mumbles, “I may or may not have said your name in bed?”

He coughs. It takes a few seconds to regain his breathing, because—what? Nancy said _his_ name?

He’s still thoroughly shocked when Nancy adds, “I wasn’t the only one who said your name, to be clear,” grinning up at Steve whose face whitens.

“ _Nancy,_ ” Steve chides, but his scowl immediately fades when she bends down to apologetically kiss his forehead. “But I mean, she’s not wrong. There was a reason I was so cool with my girlfriend saying another guy’s name, but it didn’t quite click ‘till I said yours the next time, which, like … we couldn’t _ignore,_ which is how we came to the not-so-shocking revelation that we were really, really into you.”

Jonathan doesn’t notice he’s smiling until they’re smiling back at him, shooting bursts of light throughout his stomach.  

Nancy clears her throat and leans over to poke Jonathan in the rib with her index finger. “What about you, huh?”

“Well, it kinda hit me at different times? Nancy first, then Steve, and I thought it was painful how much I liked my only two friends. And that I had a thing for _Steve Harrington._ ”

He kisses away the offended look on Steve’s face.

It’s after a few more slices that Jonathan brings up the _November_ incidents. “So, I wasn't seeing it then? The increased PDA and the lack of clothes?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Nancy answers. “At that point we were kinda sure you liked us, and—”

“Were being assholes?” He interjects, whooshing out a breath. “Because that was … unfair. Very, very unfair.”

Steve grins as he prods Jonathan’s thigh with his foot. “Well? Did it work? Did we get you all hot and bothered?”

“It did frustrate me, in more ways than one. It’s also a weird plan, like … did you expect me to be so overwhelmed by the power of a boner that I’d just admit my feelings?”

Nancy cants her head in thought. “Don’t point out the flaw in our logic. And you, you threw us off! Your storming out was justified, but also kind of scary. We thought for a second that we were wrong, that you didn’t actually like us, that we completely misread everything, but then we went out for coffee that instantly reassured us.”

She doesn’t need to continue, because he remembers. He remembers the stab of embarrassment when he’d casually slipped _Besides, I’m practically dating you and Steve_ when she’d asked why he didn’t want to date. Part of Jonathan wonders how they could have possibly known, him and his poker-face, but then he figures it’s _them._ They see right through them and while it’s partly horrifying, to be so bare and vulnerable, it’s mostly beautiful, he supposes. To show every corner of yourself and still be accepted.

They mess around for the rest of the night, the conversation floating with ease. It’s light and easy and entirely right, and even the silences are comfortable, the affection when they let the TV play and curl up on the floor.

It’s a quarter to midnight, and they’re watching _Clueless_ since “Jonathan, how have you not seen it, it’s the _Mean Girls_ of our parent’s time”. That only led to another revelation that he hadn’t seen that film either, but he convinced them to stick to Clueless.

“So it’s New Years in like ten minutes,” Steve says. “We should all kiss.”

“That’s not exactly how mouths work, babe,” Nancy says from one edge of the couch, rubbing her eyes. “We can’t all kiss at the same time … can we?”

“I mean …” Jonathan trails off, tilting his head until his cheek presses against Nancy’s knee to look at Steve. “We can try?”

It’s a stupidly great idea, and they fumble to turn on a News Channel, shuffling to the floor to sit in a triangle. When the clock strikes midnight, they’re all holding hands and lean in at the same time. Jonathan only manages to reach corners of their mouths, and it’s not all that bad, for the first two milliseconds, until he registers the pounding in his forehead from the edges of their foreheads bumping.

“Well, we’re not doing _that_ again,” Nancy huffs, leaning back and soothing her temple.

“Happy New Year!” Steve cheers through a yawn, and suddenly Jonathan sees how tired they are, the way Nancy keeps rubbing her eyes and the sleepiness etched in Steve’s voice.

“And you two are going off to bed. _Now._ ”

Steve drapes himself across Jonathan’s lap. “Carry me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ _You_ carry _me._ ”

“And then Jonathan will carry the both of us!” Nancy exclaims.

“No.”

He manages to haul them into bed, tucking them underneath the covers with a strange sense of domesticity that he wants to hold onto forever. They’re absolutely precious, sleepy and extremely drunk, and his heart _pangs_ at the sight of them, Nancy’s arm draped over Steve's chest, her head buried in his neck.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

Nancy lifts her head up and reaches for him. “Wait, Jonathan—”

“Stay?”

And he can’t refuse them, so he crawls underneath the large comforter and cocoons into Steve’s side, reaching across his stomach for Nancy.

“Hey guys?”

“Mhm?”

“Yeah, Jonathan?”

“I’m … I’m really—” He stops, unable to find the right string of words.

“Us too,” Nancy murmurs, accompanied by Steve’s thumb smoothing down his back, in calming lines, back and forth.

The softness of the night slips into the morning that they spend in bed.  Sunlight streams through the window, hitting their tangled feet and their arms slung across backs. He itches for his camera, but figures some moments don’t need to be documented—they just need to be experienced.

 

 

It turns out that dating Nancy and Steve isn’t that different from before, except it’s not as horrifying and he doesn’t want to fling himself into a hole ninety percent of the time. Less angsty pining, more sex. He’s not sure the butterflies swirling in his rib cage will ever cease when they press a kiss to the nape of his neck or lay their heads on his lap, and he’s okay with that.

January’s exhausting. Everyone’s semester starts in the second week, Steve’s as well, and Nancy lands herself a job at the school’s library so Steve can dwindle down on his shifts at the bank.

“You don’t have to,” Steve kept insisting, “Jonathan, what do yo—“

“No, this isn’t about what Jonathan thinks, it’s about what _I_ want. It’s not fair for you to be working and going to school if I’m not doing the same. I can handle it, Steve.”

“Uh. Yeah. What Nancy said.”

With all of them working and taking classes, their time is cut down, but they make it work—lunches between classes, scheduled television time, and an almost routine nap time on Tuesday’s.

He doesn’t remember being this exhausted last semester, coming home after class and work ready to crash. On the days where Nancy and Steve’s schedules intersect and they’re both out, Jonathan doesn’t feel like going back to his apartment. He knows he’ll fall asleep the second he sits down and that’ll be a day without seeing either of them which is unacceptable. So he lets himself with the key Nancy gave him, and eventually drifts off to sleep when he’s sprawled on their couch.

One day in late January he wakes up to a quilt laid out on him, a pillow underneath his head, and a weight on top of him. He scowls, turning his head up to see Steve on top of him, knocked-out and snoring into his shoulder.

“Nancy?” He says groggily, cringing at the trail of drool down his cheek.

“Jonathan!” She stands up sharply from where she was perched on a beanbag chair, her eyes glued on them.

He yawns, carefully shifting to not disturb Steve. “You were watching us sleep? Am I dating Edward Cullen?”

“You won’t be if you compare me to a Twilight character again,” she threatens.

“So you agree that you’re—”

“I’ll leave you here, you know.”

“Stay? Join the cuddle-fest.” He jerks his head towards Steve, who’s sprawled across Jonathan’s chest. He knows Nancy, knows she can’t resist either of them.

Nancy smiles bashfully, wedging herself onto Jonathan’s chest in the space Steve leaves.

“Oof,” he grumbles, and the two of them move to find a comfortable position. “Even when _I’m_ asleep, he falls asleep on me.”

“I can’t blame him,” she murmurs, kissing his jaw. “You make for a great pillow.”

“You cannot say that and still call Steve cheesy.”

She nips at his earlobe. “I was trying to be cute,” Nancy protests.

“You don’t have to _try,_ you’re always cute.”

Nancy laughs into his ear, her breath hot. “Do you even hear yourself, Jonathan? That was so lame, oh my god—”

“Can you two flirt a _little_ quieter?”  Steve complains.

“Your fault for falling asleep on me when _I_ was asleep.”

“Told you he’d bitch about it,” she yawns, tracing her thumb along Steve’s hairline.

Jonathan defensively scoffs, “I’m not bitching,” right as Steve murmurs, “You were right. What else is new?”

Jonathan flicks Steve’s ear, and they adjust again, Steve hooking a leg around Nancy’s. He knows the couch will probably be shit for his back, that he’ll wake up with a strain tomorrow, but he’s too comfortable to be bothered.

Someone will have to eventually pee, anyway.

 

 

“But we’ve been on, like, multiple dates. You do know eighty percent of our dates have been with Jonathan, right? And we’re literally at a Waffle House right now? So technically this is a date?”

Jonathan hides his smirk with a slow sip of his Coke, watching Nancy wave her fork at Steve as she chomps through a piece of her waffle.

“First of all—”

“Oh no, there’s a _second of all_ —”

She swiftly kicks him underneath the table. “First of all,” she repeats, glowering, “that wasn’t a date if we all weren’t dating.”

“So then _this_ is a date,” Steve fires back, gesturing to the booth they’re seated at.

“No, this is us dragging ourselves out of the apartment and putting on pants. We need to do something fun! Something we haven’t done before,” she quickly adds before Steve can interject, his raised finger slowly lowering. “C’mon, I’ll plan it and we’ll have a good time. What do you think Jonathan?”

Jonathan freezes when their eyes lock on him. “I think whatever you both want to do sounds like a great idea.”

“No, no, you do not get to be Switzerland here. Take a side.”

“I mean, a proper date sounds like a good idea. What do you have against that, anyway? The same guy who took us clubbing suddenly objects to a night out?”

He beams at Nancy’s “Ooh, nice one, babe,” and arches an eyebrow up as Steve sighs, dropping his head onto the table.

“That guy started _school_ and hates _life_ and has learned how fucking weird Jeffrey Dahmer was.”

He rattles on grotesque facts about Jeffrey Dahmer killings, which, at least Steve’s keeping up with his class and doing a great job at it, it seems, from the intricate details he recalls.

“Okay, I love your eagerness for your class, but I’m seconds away from gagging and I paid, like, eight dollars for this strawberry waffle. Even if I do like when you talk serial killer to me,” she reassures, winking.

Jonathan slips his camera out of his backpack, because he’s grown used to taking pictures of his daily life; when he’d told his mom about the camera, he could see the possibility in her eyes, the way she’d gaped at the price tag, the way she’d said _your friends bought you this,_ but she hadn’t pressed. She only requested that he’d take dozens of pictures and send them to her, which he’d done, becoming part of his routine to anticipate her excited texts. She hadn’t questioned the abundant pictures, nor the picture Jonathan accidentally sent of Steve, shirtless, with Nancy’s arm around his torso peaking into the picture. He was going to have to eventually explain that, and he wasn’t all that anxious; it was his _mother._ She’d be more than happy for him.

Nancy’s abrupt shriek startles Jonathan so badly he almost drops his camera, his head shooting up to gawk at her as he holds it tight to his chest.

“Holy shit! Did I tell you?”

“You realize I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“I found out who Mike’s dating!”

Steve perks up at this, clapping his hands together. “Biggest plot twist of the year.”

“Oh yeah?” He manages to say convincingly.

“Your _brother!_ Will visited the day we left and we caught them making out!”

Jonathan nods, and he tries, okay? He tries to sound shocked. “Really? Wow. I’m. Wow.”

“Holy shit, you _knew?_ ”

Well, he’s not studying theatre for a reason. “Okay, yeah. I didn’t want to say anything. I caught them when they visited in November, and holy crap, they do not know how to lock a door. Thank God they weren’t doing anything else.”

“What the hell is it with you two trying to make me throw up today?”  
When the bill arrives, Steve slaps Jonathan’s hand as he reaches for his wallet.

“Um. Ouch?”

“You’re not paying.”

“Aha, yes I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

They bicker back and forth, enough so that Nancy subtly pays the bill without him noticing. “Whoops,” she says, kissing Jonathan’s cheek, “there’s always date night.”

“I’ll pay,” Steve and Jonathan respond at the same time on their way out of the waffle house, which launches them into another pseudo-fight, Nancy groaning in the background.

It’s only ten pm when they reach their apartment complex and Jonathan’s already to call it a night and sleep for sixteen hours; this week’s been long and he’s started to make a dent in his assignments. He loves the work, loves that he can pursue the thing that excites him the most, but it’s so _much,_ and he misses the sanctity of sleep more than anything.

He fumbles for his keys to his apartment when Steve asks, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, to my apartment?”

Nancy frowns. “You’re not coming home?”  

 _Home._ She hadn’t even noticed how easily that came out, how wrong it felt for him not to go back with them. He didn’t want to intrude in their space, their place, but clearly, they didn’t think that way. Jonathan wants to shower them in affection, wants so terribly for them to feel the same way he feels in that moment.

But instead he opts to sheepishly lie, saying, “I’m just gonna grab some clothes.”

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s before either of them, at the ungodly hour of seven. Once he’s up, he’s up, and he presses lazy kisses to their foreheads. Nancy stirs, but she thankfully doesn’t wake up.

He tiptoes out of the bedroom, takes a brief shower, and changes into one of Steve’s shirts. The idea spurs when his stomach grumbles and he’s not incompetent enough to burn the building down. He’d made enough meals for Will and himself most nights, enough to take care of them both.

“What’s this? You’re making _me_ something for once? Is—oh god, there it is, I think I see a pig flying out that window—“

“Shut up and make sure I’m not making this incorrectly.”

Despite his snark, he smiles as Steve approaches him, his hair a complete mess, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Definitely a sight that catches his attention, Jonathan drawing in a sharp breath. _His_ boy—so, so beautiful.

Steve peeks over Jonathan’s shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” he coos, kissing him when he cranes his head over his shoulder.

“Sleep okay?”

“I was with my two favourite people. Of course I did.”

No matter how many times Jonathan will rip on Steve for his corniness, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t swoon whenever he’d say things like this, especially most of the times when he wasn’t trying to be cute. He just said what he thought and that somehow made it even better.

Jonathan sets water in the kettle, because he’s completely serious about making them breakfast.

“You know we’re watching Mean Girls today, right?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it.”

“And what’s this? Jonathan, cooking? Are pigs—“

“Steve beat you to it,” he says dryly, eyeing the sizzling strips of bacon in front of him. “And I’m a pretty decent cook, okay? Just ‘cause I’m not Gordon Ramsay over here, doesn’t mean that I’m not pretty freaking—”

Nancy shuts him up with a kiss and he’s never been happier to be interrupted.

He intently watches them take their first bites of his scrambled eggs, thrumming his fingers against the wooden table. “So?”

“If I’d known you could cook like _this,_ I’d never use the stove again. So maybe you can help prepare the meals around here.”

Jonathan pales. “Um, that sounds like a terrible idea, actually—”

“As long as I don’t have to cook,” Nancy says, taking a swig of her orange juice.

They lay together on the couch, streaming _Mean Girls_ from Nancy’s laptop. Jonathan has no idea how they expect him to have a lasting impression when they keep talking, but he likes their commentary, laughing when they do. He’s not really following along, not watching the movie, either, just watching them.

 

 

Because they’re adults with responsibilities and commitments (ugh), they (Nancy) plan their date in the middle of February, the weekend after Valentine’s Day. Steve gives them cupcakes he baked while they slept through the morning; Nancy gifts them with ridiculously cute stuffed bears; Jonathan framed two pictures each for them, relishing in their excited squeals as he watches them set the two in the apartment.

One was taken from Christmas, a picture he hadn’t known existed until he checked his camera of the three of them, looking starry-eyed and infatuated on the living room couch. He’s pretty sure Will took it and Jonathan doesn’t really like pictures including him, but these, ones with Nancy or Steve or his family—they’re priceless.

Another was a picture Nancy forced Jonathan to take with them, a selfie from his phone. The specific day’s a little blurry—maybe Halloween? He doesn’t know, but likes it. He likes the huge grin extending from Nancy’s mouth, Steve pretending to growl, and Jonathan forcing a fairly genuine smile. If you look close enough, you’ll see him mid-way freaking out because they each have an arm around his shoulders, never questioning why they smashed their faces against his. Looking back, Jonathan was kind of an idiot. How he hadn’t noticed perplexes him as he thinks of the non-platonic things they’d done or said, and yeah, he can’t really justify it. He’s still figuring out the maze of people and he’s doing a decent job, thanks; he’s made a few friends in his photography class, the kind of people he’d daydreamed about on days when the loneliness felt permanent. They’ve grabbed lunch a few times after class.

 _Friends._  

The concept’s always been foreign, but now that he’s here, all of it not just a possibility but a reality, he thinks he’s done his old self a good job.

The selfie sits on the desk in their bedroom, and the Christmas shot on the coffee table.

“Alright, alright, let’s go!” Nancy shouts eagerly, standing by the door with a hand propped on her hip.

While he pulls his jacket over one arm, Jonathan huffs, “ _I’m_ ready.”

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to look good for my girlfriend and boyfriend, you fucks!”

“Baby, you always look gorgeous.”

“And why do you think that is, Nance? Why?”

Jonathan and Nancy share an eyeroll, and it’s another twenty minutes before Steve comes out of the washroom. Nancy refuses to tell either of them where they’re going, Jonathan griping about how he’ll leave if it’s another club.

“C’mon, you _loved_ dancing with us, didn’t you?” Steve nudges Jonathan.

“You both are unbelievably hot, so _obviously_.”

He and Nancy smirk as Steve turns pink, definitely not what he expected Jonathan to say.

“You two have to promise to give it a try, okay?”

“Why are you looking at _me?_ ”

“No reason,” Nancy says in a high voice, squeezing Jonathan’s hand  tighter.

Nancy ends up taking them to a large skating rink, the front lit up with a big, blue sign. They’re met with a rush of warmth once they push past the doors, Nancy wordlessly skipping up to the counter to request three pairs of skates.

Jonathan and Steve hang by the entrance, their eyes on Nancy.

“Can’t wait to see you fall over,” Steve teases.

“Can’t wait to _push_ you over.”

“You know, there are things you guys don’t know about me—”

“Are you confessing that you’re a serial killer?” Jonathan interrupts, pretending to gasp.

Steve laughs. “I’d make a good one, huh? Criminology major, charming, I could fit the picture.”

“Should Nancy and I be worried?”

“C’mon, I wouldn’t kill you guys. I would just initiate you, get you guys to join me.”

Nancy walks back to them with a bounce to her step, grabbing their hands and pulling them along. “Join you in what?”

“Killing people.”

She hums thoughtfully as she drags them to the set of doors behind the counter, revealing a dim hallway with people trying on skates. “I think I’d be a great serial killer. I’m tiny, so no one would suspect me.”

“I apparently look and sound like a serial killer, so.”

“Oh my god, are you still not over that?”

After minutes of trying on different sizes, Jonathan nearly tripling over the second pair he tried, they carefully slide onto the rink.

“Okay, okay,” Nancy says calmly, “we’re fine, we’ve got this—“

Seconds later, she strides a little too quickly and screams as she falls over, bringing Jonathan down with her.

Steve, the little shit, releases Jonathan’s hand as soon as he sees Nancy topple over. When they crash, he covers his mouth in an attempt to conceal his laughter.

Nancy glares at Steve. “What the hell? Where’s the _solidarity?_ ”

“At least help me up,” Jonathan grunts, rubbing the back of his head.

“Aha, fucker, I’m not falling for that,” he sing-songs, circling them as they struggle to their feet.

Nancy and Jonathan exchange a horrified glance. “How—“

“It’s a secret!”

Steve tells them five minutes later that he took skating lessons for two years until his dad found out. He’d excelled the art and was frustratingly good on ice, laughing maniacally every time either of them tripped.

“I don’t trust you.”

“C’mon, I’ve got you!”

“ _I don’t trust you.”_

Steve eventually coaxes Nancy into taking his hand, gracefully guiding the two around the rink. “I placed at regionals two years in a row for a reason.”

As Steve shows off with figure-eights, Jonathan’s struck with the reality that there are so many little things about Nancy and Steve he’s yet to discover. He likes the idea of that, of continuously learning things about them, finding more and more things to fall in love with.

“This is so weird,” she tells him, looping her arm around his, “like, I completely expected you to fall over your ass every other second—”

“That’s fair.”

“But Steve? Actually good at skating? Like. Holy shit. That is so strangely attractive.”

“I don’t know, you falling on _your_ ass is pretty hot, too.”

Steve leads them around the rink for the next hour or so, lulling Jonathan into an immense feeling of security and protection. They duck out at around nine for dinner at a nearby Italian cuisine, Jonathan sneaking in a few pictures before Steve tells him to put his camera away.

“Enjoy the moment, Jonathan.”

“You sound like an agitated baby boomer, babe.”

“What, no I—shit.”

He snaps another picture of Steve’s disgruntled look before stowing his camera away, tucking it into his backpack. “So, what part of this makes this a date-date?”

Steve props his elbows onto the table. “We’ve gotta stare into each other’s eyes, obviously.”

“How does that work exactly if there are three of us?” Nancy asks with an amused smile.

“Okay, so I look into your eyes, Jonathan looks at mine, and you look at him, then we switch. And we’ve gotta compliment each other too, in a really deep, suave voice. Like we’re in a perfume commercial.”

They give it a try with muffled giggles, Jonathan finding it easy to sit there in silence and just stare into Steve’s eyes. “Your eyes are as brown as dirt.”

“Nance, it is _so_ attractive how you’re as tall as a munchkin.”

“Jonathan … you’re just _really_ pretty.”

“You made him blush!” Steve coos, breaking eye contact to smirk at the bloom in Jonathan’s cheeks.

Jonathan hisses, his hands fumbling to hide his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Go back to staring at your girlfriend, you prick.”

“Happy to oblige.”

Reluctantly lowering his hands when Nancy tugs at them, he returns at gazing into Steve’s eyes, hit with an unexpected wave of gratitude. “You’re also really pretty. You’re beautiful, inside and out, Steve.”

“You have no idea how in awe of you I am. You’re indescribable.”

“And I am so privileged to get to call you, the both of you, my best friends, my boyfriends.”

“Um.” Someone clears their throat and all three of them snap their heads up to look at their waiter standing at the end of their table, her entire face flushed. “I … I …” She coughs. “I was wondering if you three wanted dessert?”

Nancy meekly orders three slices of cheesecake, and as soon as the waiter timidly nods off with their menus, they burst into a fit of laughter.

They take their time walking back home, hand in hand in hand, giggling and laughing over the evening’s events.

“Pretty good first date, no?” Nancy asks as she unlocks the door to her and Steve’s apartment.

Steve chuckles as he removes his jacket. “You want us to shower you with compliments, don’t you?”

“Well get on to it.”

“It was fun,” Jonathan says earnestly, palming her cheek. “I had a really good time.”

Nancy lifts her head up to press her forehead against Jonathan’s, smiling. “You _always_ have a good time with us,” she points out.

“Guilty,” he whispers against her mouth, before she pulls him into a kiss.

“I had a great time, too,” Steve pipes up from the couch.

The two of them reluctantly break apart to shoot him smirks. “You want us? You come _here,_ ” Nancy says firmly, gesturing to their position against the kitchen counter.

Steve waves his arm towards them. “Too far. I know you’ll give in ‘cause of how much you like me and my mouth.”

“I _do_ like your mouth,” Jonathan quips, unmoving as he waits to follow Nancy’s lead.

She groans, marching over to Steve and dropping herself onto his lap. “You suck.”

“I will if you say please.”

They don’t make it to the bedroom, settling for lazy, couch-sex—a pretty fantastic Valentine’s Day celebration if you ask him.

 

 

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not—you guys were pretty drunk last night, and I’ll get it if you’ve changed your minds, really, it’s not a big deal—”

“Ho-ly shit, Jonathan Byers, shut the fuck up,” Steve bluntly cuts in, “We want you to live with us, okay? We want to go to sleep and wake up next to you everyday, have you take pictures of us at our _worst_ angles, and steal all of your shirts until the end of time. Stop asking us if we’re sure. _We’re sure._ ”

Jonathan’s thankful for the mug in his hands, hiding the explosive grin curving on his mouth with a swig of his coffee.

Nancy reaches over the dining table to nudge him. “So? You’ve gotta say it.”

“It.”

She grits her teeth. “Jonathan Byers—”

“Nancy Wheeler—”

“Oh my God,” Nancy moans, leaning into Steve’s shoulder. “How did we end up liking this asshole?”

With a tired smile, Steve strokes her hair. “Beats me. C’mon, man. Tell us you want to move in.”

They’re both dopily smiling at them, still a little hungover from the prior night, hence the insane amount of coffee they’re consuming for shifts starting in a few hours. Even with the lines of exhaustion underneath their eyes, the messiness of their hair—Nancy’s in a ponytail with strands of hair all over the place, Steve’s hair resembling a hornet’s nest—Jonathan still finds himself in awe, taken aback by the simplicity of their beauty.

He’s so enamoured that he almost forgets Steve had spoken to him, until Nancy’s foot brushes against his from underneath the table. “I want to move in with you both.”

Nancy and Steve erupt into a fit of shrieks and squeals, the table clattering from their movement.

He knows it’s not _that_ big of a deal. He’s essentially lived with them since September, nearly all of his meals eaten by this very table or on the carpeted floor. At most, he spends a few hours in his apartment a day. The logical part of him is well aware that not much will change.

But the other part, the part that’s squealing along with them, knows that it doesn’t really matter. It’s a step forward. It’s the assurance that _I’m here, I won’t go anywhere._

He doesn’t really plan on going anywhere, unless it’s with them.

 

 

He’s a month in living with Steve and Nancy, and okay, it’s a little different.

For one, it’s ridiculous how starkly different the two are in terms of cleanliness. Steve’s clothes are all over the place, and his belongings are another level of disgusting. He regrets rifling through Steve’s backpack one day in late March when Steve asks him to grab a Snickers bar, because it’s riddled with wrappers, half-eaten sandwiches, and his fingers brush past a damp spot.

Nancy on the other hand is completely organized and neat. Her desk is tidy and her clothes remain in her designated spot in their shared closet.

Jonathan falls in the middle, but if anything, Steve’s sort of a reminder and Nancy’s an inspiration to be as clean as possible. If anything, at least he’s not as bad as that backpack.

He also gets to be there for the smaller things, too, the behind the scene moments he never witnessed before.

Like the softness of Nancy’s hair after she washes it, the cups of lukewarm coffee Steve will leave on their bedsides on the mornings when he’s the first to leave.

Even the pounding in his forehead from the numerous times they’ll rinse after brushing their teeth and bump their heads, solemnly agreeing to take turns next time only to do the same exact thing—he still takes pride in getting to live through those moments, with them.

It’s so strange to him that his mother still doesn’t know about it. It’s not that he’s scared of telling her, it’s just not a conversation you have over the phone.

It’s a few weeks later and they’re in some cafe, cups of coffee and pastries surrounding them, the place buzzing with quiet chatter. It’s right between their schedules—half an hour after Steve’s class, an hour before Nancy’s, and an hour and a half before Jonathan’s film class. With the busyness that is their lives, they try to savour whatever time they can find.

He sips his coffee right as Steve finishes telling them about a documentary he’s watching for his Intro to Criminology course.

Jonathan honestly doesn’t mean for it to sound the way it does when he puts his cup back on the table and says, “My mom’s thinking of visiting soon.”

Steve freezes mid-way through chewing an entire croissant.

Nancy whitens, her lips parting, and he waits for her to say something, but silence follows.

He quickly adds, “She just — she wants to see my apartment. See how I’m doing. Probably yell at me about the pigsty of my apartment. You guys — you guys don’t have to meet her.”

Steve’s the first one who reaches out to touch him, his fingers grazing his wrist. “It’s not that, it’s just …”

“Would she be okay with _this?_ ” Nancy says bluntly, reaching out for his other hand.

 _Of course,_ he starts to say, but stops. Would she? She was okay with Will and Mike, and she’s always been open-minded; he can’t imagine her showing anything but support. But the thought won’t stop nagging at the corner of his mind, and the looks on their faces aren’t helping. “How about this: I’ll tell her when she comes in and if it’s not … you two will just conveniently be out for the entire weekend and she won’t see you. But it’ll be … it’ll be _fine._ She’s not — she wouldn’t —” He swallows. “It’ll be fine.”

“Definitely,” Steve says, thumb rubbing over his knuckle, and he’s good. He’s good.

“Oh my god. We’re all holding _hands._ Are we going to burst into a rendition of _Kumbaya_ next?”  Nancy snorts, and they all chuckle, but it’s not like they remove their hands, either, and even when they sip their drinks, it’s done gracefully with an entwined set of hands.

 

 

He picks his mother up at the bus station that Friday evening.

The bags underneath her eyes are heavy, but the smile unfolding on her face is real and he’s so relieved he could cry in her shoulder when she runs right into him. “Jonathan,” she croons, caressing the back of his head.

God, he thinks, soaking in her perfume and the cloak of protection she drapes around him.

He missed her.

It’s when he’s taken her into his apartment that it feels like there’s a grenade inside of him, like it’ll explode unless he tells her immediately. It’s not that he won’t keep a secret from her; he’s literally incapable of it. And she’s always been the person who asks how his day was, not wanting a clipped ‘fine’, but a genuine answer. Even when she’d just finished a twelve-hour shift, even when everything was hell and his dad stole their money or popped in just to pop out and break Will’s heart, she still cared. And she wanted him to know, wanted him to know that her boy was doing alright, that he let someone—two someone’s—in.

So he tightens the grip on her bags and goes for it. 

“Mom?” His voice cracks.

“Yes, honey?” She turns around, her smile fading when she takes him in. “What’s up?”

“You remember Steve and Nancy, right? Well, uh—” _Just spit it out._ “We’re dating. All three of us. I moved in with them last month.”

“Do you—do you still need the talk?  Or talks, I guess.” She laughs a little. “I have no idea if sex ed is actually useful or not, but you’re a smart boy, always have been, I’m sure you’re using protection … you _are,_ aren’t you?”

That’s … that’s definitely not what he expected. “Yes? Yes, yes we are. But did you really hear me, I said—”

“I heard you. Oh, and don’t forget about lube, lube is your best friend—”

“ _Jesus,_ mom,” he chokes, trying not to trip over air as he walks towards her. “You’re okay with the fact that I’m dating two people?”

“Jonathan …” Despite the fact that she has to look up at him, he still feels like a child around her, vulnerable and small. She takes his face into her hands, thumb stroking his cheek. “You’re happy, aren’t you? And they’re — they’re _good_ people?”

“Yes,” he says without a doubt in his mind.

“Then I’m okay. So, when do I get to meet them?”

 

 

Jonathan has to bite down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing when he takes in the sight of Nancy and Steve when he stands in front of their apartment, next to his mother; Steve, wearing a tie and everything, looking as formal as he would going to a shift at the bank, and Nancy, in this flowery dress that he’s never seen on her before.  He’d given them the _go_ text, that she wanted to meet them.

He knows they’ve been nervous, so he holds his tongue from slipping anything mocking.

“Mrs. Byers!” Steve greets.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Nancy says, smiling so wide that Jonathan wants to poke her cheeks.

“Steve! Nancy! Aw, it’s a pleasure, thank you so much for cooking.”

Steve waves a dismissive hand as she and Jonathan step inside. “Oh, it’s nothing—”

“Not from what Jonathan’s told me. He says your food’s to die for, ruined everything else for him.”

“Really?” Steve glows like it’s Christmas morning, and that’s how Jonathan knows the rest of the evening will flow smoothly.

Nancy’s utterly enamoured by his mother; she listens intently to all of her stories over glasses of wine, nearly shrieking when she offhandedly mentions Frida Kahlo. Jonathan may or may not have let it slip to his mother how much Nancy adores the artist.

Steve beams whenever she calls him “honey” or “sweetheart”, like he’s never been called anything other than his own name and Jonathan tries not to think about it.

“I made sure to bring some of these, I figured you both would like it …” She says over cheesecake, pulling out a leather-bound book from her purse he recognizes all too well.

Nancy squawks, reaching out to run her fingers against the cover. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Holy shit!” Steve breaks into a grin, inching closer than he already was towards Nancy.

“Mom. No. Why—why would you do this?”

They spend the next twenty minutes fawning over pictures of Jonathan as a baby while Jonathan tries not to die and break Nancy’s phone every time she snaps a picture, making a silent note to ask Mike through Will for some pictures in retaliation.

For the most part, he’s pleased. Everything goes smoothly; his mother adores them, they clearly adore her. She says so herself when he takes her out to dinner, just the two of them, her eyes shining underneath the fluorescent lights.

“They really make you happy,” she says, a statement, not a question. “I like them. I like them a _lot._ ”

Jonathan smiles “Me too.”

 

 

It’s early April when it’s Steve’s turn for date night.

Exams have started to creep in, but Nancy and Jonathan push aside all things school-related for a Sunday night per Steve’s request. He won’t tell them what he’s planning, just to wear their matching sweaters made by Nancy’s mother.

“What is up with you guys and surprises?”  Jonathan huffs, tracing his index finger over the _J_ on his maroon sweater. An elderly woman sitting across from them shoots them a smile at their matching ensemble, and he’s hit with an unexpected surge of exuberance. Steve insisted they all wear their sweaters, expecting resistance from Jonathan, but honestly?  He likes it.

“That way you can’t back out before you’ve given it a try.”

“That’s just for Jonathan, though, right?”

“Sure, Nance.”

“What do you mean _sure?_ ”

When Steve yanks them up at a stop and eagerly pulls them out of the bus, Jonathan stares up at the building. He’s pretty sure it’s a bar, from its neon-covered sign reading _Planet Rose_ and the window peaking in, people perched up on a counter with drinks in their hands.

“Just wait ‘till we get inside,” Steve says before Nancy or Jonathan voice their confusion.

“Okay, _who’s next?_ ” A voice chirps over a microphone, and a pair of girls squeal and hop onto a slightly elevated stage in one corner of the bar. A few seconds later, the intro to Justin Bieber’s _Baby_ plays and there’s scattered cheering.

“Karaoke?” Nancy splutters.

Steve spins around, extending his arms out with a wide, childlike grin. “Surprise!”

“No,” him and Nancy spit out at the same time.

Steve frowns. “C’mon. Give it a chance. _Please._ ”

Jonathan can tell from the slump of Nancy’s shoulders she’s already giving in. When she looks at him, eyebrows slightly raised, he knows what she’s silently asking. _I’ll do it if you do it._

“Okay,” Jonathan gives in, “we’re in.”

They find a vacant booth and order some curly fries, watching friends go up and pridely belch their favourite song as off-key as possible, it seems. Steve doesn’t mention going up, which Jonathan considers a sign, until—

“Alright. Who wants to go first?”

“You know, babe, I’d _love_ to hear you sing,” Nancy says with the fakest smile Jonathan’s ever seen, making him bite down on his lip to keep from snorting.

“Okay, I’ll go first. But then I’m bringing one of you dipshits up with me.” He wags a finger at both of them before skipping towards the bartender managing the system, out of hearing range for Jonathan to hear his request.

Nancy rests her head on Jonathan’s shoulder. “You _better_ sing with me.”

“If Steve promises not to record it.”

“Like we’re not about to record this?” He hears the grin in her voice as she raises her phone up, shaking it a few times before opening up Snapchat.

“You’re sneaky, Nancy Wheeler. What do you think he’s gonna sing?”

“Absolutely zero idea.”

Steve struts up to the stage, tapping the microphone experimentally. “Hi, hi, I’m Steve, and this goes out to Nancy and Jonathan.” He blows them a kiss, one that Nancy pretends to catch.

Jonathan gives him a thumbs-up and attempts a wink, agreeing in that moment to never try that again.

“ _Somebody once told me_ …”

Nancy and Jonathan immediately burst into laughter as Steve bursts into a perfect rendition of Smash Mouth’s “All Star”, not having to look at the screen once. It’s too precious, and Jonathan’s cheeks ache from all the smiling and laughing when Steve bows at the end.

“You two are up!” He says, slightly out of breath, when he returns to their table.

“Hey Steve?” Nancy says as she scoots out of the booth.

“Yeah, Nance?”

“I _love_ you.”

“I love you t—” she cuts him off by pressing a kiss to his mouth, and Jonathan almost says it too when he leans forward to kiss Steve. His eyes widen and he hopes Steve didn’t catch it.

“What was that?”

Of course. “I love your singing. It’s absolutely terrible.”

“Aw, thank you.”

“Byers, _get moving!_ ”

Jonathan rolls his eyes fondly, tilting Steve’s chin up and closing the space between them to kiss him. “If you record anything, I’ll kill you,” he threatens.

“Nah, you won’t. You like me too much.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” he jokes, and darts up to Nancy before she can chew him out. He wipes his palms on his jeans repeatedly, clearing his throat. “So, what song—”

Nancy flashes him a knowing grin, taking the microphone out of its stand. “Just wait for it, babe.”

Before he gets the chance to question her, without missing a beat or even glancing at the screen behind her, she says into the microphone, “ _Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”_

As Nancy proceeds to flawlessly recite the first set of lines to Bohemian Rhapsody and Steve cheers _that’s my girl,_ Jonathan can’t stop thinking about how in love with them he is. The realization is unsurprising, something he’s known deep in his bones for awhile, but it’s jarring enough that he nearly forgets his part. “Uhh, _just killed a man_ …”

Steve screams, jumping up from his seat to holler, “My man! My motherfucking man!”

He and Nancy _really_ get into it and he’ll admit it: he’s having fun. He just won’t admit it to Steve.

The bar’s mostly empty, so they go up to sing numerous times. The nerves bundled in Jonathan’s chest eventually dissipate so much so that when Steve jokes that Jonathan should sing Evanescence’s Bring Me To Life, he does.

He also can’t stop thinking about those three words. It continuously pops into his head sporadically throughout the night. When Nancy laughs so hard she snorts at Steve’s rendition of _Baby Got Back._ When Steve eats his chicken wings so sloppily that sauce drips down his chin. He bursts with the thought, desperate to let it free.

Jonathan doesn’t say it, though. Not even on the bus ride home when Steve props his legs onto his lap or when Nancy brushes her nose against his cheek before falling asleep with her head slumped into his neck.

It’s not that he’s scared of not hearing the words back.

He’s just got a better way of saying it and that’s going to require some more time.

 

 

Jonathan’s turn finally comes around once their exams are finished.

Everyone’s an absolute disaster, balls of pure anxiety. They give each other distance throughout the day, everyone swarming off to their individual study groups—Jonathan’s friends are cool and collected and it helps subdue a lot of his nerves. When they meet for dinner, no one’s allowed to bring up the ‘e’ word.

He’s got everything planned: Thursday afternoon, the day after Steve’s last final, and it’s a complete surprise.

“That sounds ominous,” Nancy says, rolling up the sleeves of her ‘N’-embroidered sweater. “Plus, grocery shopping? Is this a date or to-do list?”

“It’s a _surprise._ ”

Steve squints up at him from the floor. “You’re going to kill us.”

“Mm, nope.”

“You’re … going to cook us something?” Steve tries again.

Jonathan barks out a laugh. “Definitely not.”  He gently nudges Steve’s back with his foot. “Just trust me. I’ll meet you by that music store in forty-five minutes, okay? Just trust me,” he adds at the uneasy look on Nancy’s face.

Nancy nods, promptly standing up and pulling Steve up to his feet. “You better be there on time,” she says, wagging a threatening finger towards him.

Right before they shut the door on their way out, Steve looks over his shoulder and calls out, “Bye, _honey!_ ”

He prepares everything in the apartment much faster than he intended, so he’s early when he meets them with a basket in his hands and his camera slung around his shoulders.

Steve audibly gasps at the sight of Jonathan, skipping up towards him. “Picnic?”

“Picnic,” he confirms.

“We needed detergent for a picnic?” Nancy asks wryly, lifting the plastic bag in her grip.

“I needed you to kill some time. C’mon. Our spot’s only fifteen minutes away.”

Nancy hooks an arm around his, holding Steve’s hand with her other one. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

Jonathan had picked a nice spot in Central Park that wasn’t usually crowded, underneath a large, oak tree. He sets the basket down, laying out a blanket over the grass.

They lay down, squeezing close to fit onto the blanket.  Jonathan waits for the both of them to be seated before snapping a few pictures.

“Jonathan, if you don’t get your ass down there, I _will_ drag you down,” Steve threatens.

He crawls onto one edge of the blanket next to Nancy. “I figured this would be nice. If it’s not, we can always—”

“Jonathan,” Nancy cuts in, “this is perfect. You know Steve took me on a picnic once.”

Steve groans. “Nance, does he really need to—”

“Yes, he does! It’s a cute story. So it’s our first date as an official couple and we go up to the lake right at the outskirts of Hawkins. He’s got little, triangular sandwiches, the basket, and _everything._ We’re perched right by the lake and we’d been laying down for awhile, and he stands up ‘cause his leg’s asleep and just—” Nancy stops, the tinkle of her laugh filling his ears. “Falls right over. It was _so_ graceless.”

Jonathan grins, the image easily coming to mind; how Steve probably shrieked, his hands waving around as he _plopped_ right into the lake.

“Nance—” Steve grumbles, but he’s smiling into her shoulder, listening intently despite having been there.

“And I pity him. He even dropped his sandwich into the lake. So I think, fuck it, put my phone in the basket and jump in with him.”

“Maybe that was my plan along, to get you into the lake with me.”

Nancy chuckles, twirling a strand of his hair between her fingertips. “Your plan involved you catching a cold just to swim with me?”

He kisses her knuckle. “Was completely worth it. Y’know, we should go swimming for our next date. I’d happily push Jonathan in.”

“I’d push _you_ in.”

“While you two argued over that, I’d push you both in. ‘Cause you’re dumb like that,” Nancy says.

There’s a split-second of eye contact between Jonathan and Steve, both nodding before attacking Nancy with tickles.

“Say we’re geniuses!” Steve cackles.

“You’re assholes—”

“That’s true, but we’re also geniuses. C’mon,” Jonathan urges as her face flushes with crimson.

“Fine! _Fine!_ You’re both geniuses. Happy now?” She pants as their hands return to their sides, both Steve and Jonathan collapsing next to her.

They munch on the junk food Jonathan requested they buy and the cookies Jonathan _tried_ baking (he doesn’t blame Nancy for spitting her first bite out onto the grass) and let the hours pass by in the sunlight.

The field looks absolutely _perfect_ at around three and he gets them to pose for a series of pictures. He loses track of how many he takes and doesn’t protest when Nancy steals his camera and asks him to pose against the tree.

His heart thrums in his chest almost nervously when he suggests as casually as possible to go back to their apartment.

“Date over?” Nancy asks, an eyebrow raised as she tosses the blanket into Jonathan’s basket.

“ … Kind of?”

He kisses their confused looks and doesn’t expand on their way back until they’re a foot away from the apartment door.

“Okay,” Jonathan says, “This … is going to be super lame and like, I’m pretty sure I ripped off a movie, but what _ever._ You guys like cheesy. So I decided to be cheesy.”

He twists the doorknob before either can get a word out, and doesn’t glance at the apartment set-up, because he knows what’s there. He knows about the lilacs and roses placed around the living room. He knows about the petals trailing towards the once-empty wall. He knows about the pictures hung up from chronological order, September starting in the ‘I’ leading up to April at ‘U’. There’s a lot of them, but he’d hand-picked each and every one because he has _so many_ pictures of Steve and Nancy. It took him about two hours to choose and he loves each picture with his entire heart. Like the one Nancy took on their way out of the club Steve took them to, Jonathan curled up in Steve’s arms. The one Steve snapped of him and Nancy asleep, bodies pressed together sometime in January. The one very first picture he’d ever taken of them, them idly watching television but managing to be so breathtakingly gorgeous at the same time.

He knows about how the dozens of pictures spell out, clear-as-day, _I LOVE YOU._

He doesn’t need to look at it—just needs to look at them, to soak in every detail of their faces.

“Jonathan …” Nancy’s the first to speak. Her eyes are misty as they glaze over each and every picture, one hand hovering her heart. She’s speechless and he can see how much she loves it from the lines of her grin on her face.

Steve’s silent, but his grin says everything he doesn’t. He stares at the images, long and hard, before his eyes shift to Jonathan and he surges forward, kissing him.

“I love you,” Jonathan blurts, because he’s going to be first goddammit. “I love the both of you _so_ fucking much.”

A laugh spills from Nancy’s lips as she marches up to him, reaching up to cradle his face. “I knew you’d say it first,” she teases. “God, I love you, okay? Fuck. Jonathan, I love you. I just—I do.” She kisses him, setting him and his entire body at ease. He wants to take those words and lock it up in his heart, wants to hear them _forever,_ and thinks that maybe, maybe he might.

“Fifteen times,” Steve says when they pull apart.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve wanted to say it fifteen times to you. Thought it, considered it, and didn’t. But I’m saying it now. I love you.”

“Oh my God,” Nancy says, “you two are so fucking sappy, I love you so much. The best boyfriends anyone could ever have. How did I end up with such _romantics?_ ”

Steve smiles, pulling Nancy and Jonathan close. “You love us.”

“I do. I love you both.”

“I, uh, love you too. Love how you always cry.”

“I don’t always cry!” Nancy snaps as a stray tear dribbles down her cheek.

Steve kisses her forehead. “I love how you’re the world’s worst liar.”

They stand there, swaying back and forth, the word _love_ thrown in every sentence. It’s infectious—Jonathan can’t stop saying it. Not when he drags them to bed _because we have to have sex now, c’mon, it’s a milestone or something right,_ not during sex, not after it, either.

Not even when Steve and Nancy have fallen asleep, Nancy’s arm slung over his chest and Steve’s head on his stomach.

He thinks back to September, to how his school year started. Him, utterly alone, in a city where he had no one. How horrified he was at the prospect that he was just destined to be by himself, that nothing would change.

How wonderfully wrong he was.

How he just happened to be Steve and Nancy’s neighbour and how lucky he is that he gave into Nancy Wheeler’s stubbornness. How he didn’t hold onto the past and its mistakes and befriended Steve Harrington. How he let the both of them in.

Jonathan doesn’t believe in fate, doesn’t think that the world _meant_ for them to be neighbours or for them to fall in love.

No, he believes in something much better: them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop. we're done! let me just get sentimental for a second. I was really floored by the lovely comments y'all left and am so glad that that so many of you liked it. this fic was definitely not supposed to be this long lmao, I thought it'd be a cute one-shot, but nOPE. but I'm pleased with what came out & honestly proud of the end-result!! this chapter took a lil longer but I really wanted the last part to fit the image that I wanted.
> 
> now for a few things: 
> 
> of COURSE Karen's going to knit them these sweaters, she adores Steve and Nancy
> 
> and of cOURSE Jonathan's gonna be all extra with his I love you, bc!!!! he loves them!!!!!! and he just. he wants them to know how much they mean to him and oh my god is it normal to cry over scenes u wrote  
> if u thought that was too cheesy GOOD i hope it's cheesier than the best Mac n' cheese you've ever had  
> man I just liked this chapter and it was so sweet. also Jonathan has friends, I say, having put two to four lines about that lmao. but yeah, they all have lives outside of each other bc they're cool dudes and y'know. friendships are dope.  
> honestly there were lots of parts of this chapter I liked, obvi-fucking-ously considering I wrote 12K 
> 
> comments are greatly appreciated! let me know what (cough EVERYTHING cough) you thought. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading this and taking the time to look at my writing. y'all are rad. have a lovely day.
> 
> ALSO ALSO ALSO if u have any fluff prompts hmu??? I doubt this is the last time I'll write stoncy but I'm having a lil bit of trouble thinking of what to write next

**Author's Note:**

> so i really don't know what this is bUUUUT it's been a pretty rough few days with a death in the family, and this fic has really gotten me through it, so i'm happy with it!
> 
> the poem Jonathan thinks about is by the lovely Nayyirah Waheed.
> 
> i crave validation so comment/kudos if you liked!!!


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